Tumblr Shots
by Cordria
Summary: Short fiction cross-postings from Tumblr. I'm not cross-posting everything, just the more popular ones. If you want to read all my short fics, you'll have to head over to Tumblr. Random characters, genres, ratings, and plots.
1. Agreement - Lancer, Danny

**Agreement  
** A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Cori

* * *

Edward Lancer glanced up from his lesson plans when the door to his tiny office creaked open and slammed shut. A pale, dark-haired junior stood just inside the door, frustration evident all over his face, and in the way his eyes kept sparking green against blue, and the slow way he was rocking forward and back. Lancer arched an eyebrow and glanced at the clock – only ten minutes until school started for the day – then back at his oddest student. "Problems?"

Daniel Fenton burst into noise. There was really no other way to describe the speech patterns of the frustrated child. The words crawled under Lancer's skin and a headache, not unlike the one caused by eating ice cream too fast, flared into life at his temples.

"Woah," Lancer said, holding up a hand.

Danny's voice cut off with a huff, his arms crossing over his chest, an annoyed wrinkle on his forehead.

"I didn't understand a word of that," the teacher admitted, ignoring his paperwork and leaning forwards, resting his elbows on his desk. He studied the boy, looking for any sort of cuts or bruises that would help to explain what was going on, then gestured for Danny to come closer. When the boy was within striking distance, Lancer grabbed an arm and flipped it around, looking at the scrapes and redness near his elbow.

Words bubbled out of Danny's mouth again. From past experience, Lancer figured it was probably a string of excuses.

He sighed and let go of Danny's arm, watching the boy rub at it. Lancer figured the minor injuries would be gone by lunch and decided it was not something to pick at just yet. "Are you going be calmed down enough to go to class in a few minutes?"

His response was a wrinkled nose and a slow shake of the boy's head.

Lancer pointed towards the chair in the corner by the tiny window. What was this, the forth time in just a few weeks that Danny had come in to his office so riled up? "You know the rules, Danny. No touching anything while I'm gone." He watched the teen toss his ragged backpack into the corner and then slink over to the chair. "Here's a pass to class – just fill in the time when you're ready to go, and make sure you come see me after school."

Danny waved his hand back and forth, then nodded. Lancer studied him for a second longer, then grabbed his paperwork and stuffed it into his satchel. Leaving the boy slumped in the chair, slowly tossing a stress ball from hand to hand, Lancer trooped out of his office and towards his first period class.

* * *

"You know the juniors back and front, right?" one of the other teachers said during lunch. Lancer blinked up from his book, momentarily confused by the abrupt transition from the bastions of medieval Europe to a dirty teacher's lounge. "Take a guess as to who wrote this." The teacher held one of the junior class's winter cross-curricular projects in her hand, a thick report with a glossy cover.

Lancer set down his book, careful to mark his page, and took the proffered essay. He flipped through it. It seemed to be well written, with footnotes and diagrams and even a section of references in the back. "This is really nice," he muttered, trying to guess which of the juniors would have done something like this. He'd had them the two previous years in English. "Whoever it is worked really hard on it."

"It's easily one of the best in the class," the teacher agreed, leaning forwards with a sparkle in her eye. "Take a guess."

He quickly read through the introduction, noting the occasional oddly structured sentence and the topic – constellations: past, present, and future – and snorted in amazement. "Fenton."

The teacher nodded and grinned.

"Why doesn't it have his name on it?" Lancer paged through it again, mostly startled that Danny would have worked so hard on a project like this, but then to not put his name on it…?

There was a rustle of paper. Lancer glanced up from his perusal to see another sheet behind handed to him. "This was the title page," she said. It was a slightly wrinkled piece of printer paper, unlike the thicker quality paper of the report, with a quickly scribbled title and author's name. The purported author's name was _Dash Baxter_.

"Well, that explains the fireworks this morning," Lancer muttered.

"I'm still deciding what to do about it. Fenton didn't show up for class to defend it." The other teacher took a bite of her salad. "But it's pretty clearly his."

"He was in my office a good portion of the morning."

"Doing his 504 thing," she said with a grin, curiosity dancing in her eyes.

"He's not a 504 kid," Lancer corrected, avoiding explaining what, _exactly_ , Fenton was. "Although he probably should be." He tapped the project gently on the table. "I'll see him after school today, why don't I talk to him about it."

The teacher hummed an agreement, chewing on another bite of her salad. "Don't you ever eat lunch?" she asked, changing the topic.

"I don't do lunch," Lancer said. He stuffed the project into his satchel and picked up his book, scanning to find his place.

* * *

Daniel Fenton was already sitting in Lancer's locked office when the man came back in from after school bus duty. "There are locks on doors for a reason, Danny," he said – not thinking the teen would take the words seriously, but needing to say something about the invasion of privacy none-the-less.

The boy waved his concern away. "Sorry about this morning." He sounded contrite. "I overreacted."

"To what?" Lancer asked as he put away his belongings and settled into his chair. After a long period of silence, Lancer sent Danny a dark look. "I believe our agreement was you could hide in my office when the world became too much, but you would explain to me what happened afterwards."

Danny scowled and sank down in the chair opposite his teacher. "I know," he muttered. "I just _really_ overreacted and it'll sound stupid now when I say it out loud."

Lancer felt a smile quirk up the corner of his lips. "Improvement."

"What?"

Lancer let the smile grow at the confused look in Danny's eyes. "Last year, you wouldn't have been able to tell when you overreacted to something. It's an improvement."

The boy's eyes narrowed. "I get enough therapy at home. I don't need it from you too."

"I'm not doing therapy," Lancer said blandly, lacing his fingers together on his desk. "I'm looking for an accounting of why you sat in my office for nearly two hours this morning, too upset to remember how to speak English."

Danny sank lower into the chair, digging his toes into the ground and letting his knee shift anxiously back and forth. "It was Dash," he finally said, his voice barely loud enough to carry over the ambient noise in the office.

Lancer sighed and dug into his satchel, pulling out the report he'd gotten from the English teacher at lunch. He tossed it gently into the boy's lap, watching the expression on the teen's face twist into one of pure shock. "Why do you let him mess with you like this?"

"Let?" Danny said sharply, smoothing out a few invisible wrinkles on the paper. "I don't _let_ -"

"We both know you could stop Mr. Baxter in his tracks in less than two seconds if you wanted," Lancer said seriously. "You are letting him torment you, and don't give me any of that nonsense about humans and ghosts again."

Danny stuck out his jaw and looked away.

"Danny…"

"He's bigger, and stronger, and faster," Danny said, a quiet litany of facts Lancer was sure didn't matter a lick and both of them knew it, "and popular. He's got a future-"

"You don't?"

"Well yeah, I do, but…" Danny trailed off. "But seriously, Mr. Lancer. You said so yourself. I've got the most write-ups of anyone in the school. I can't be counted on to actually _be_ someplace when I'm told to. I'm unreliable and not responsible and-"

"I said nothing of the sort," Lancer cut in, stunned at the boy's last few words, trying to think over past conversations to pick up where the teen had gotten that idea.

Danny shrugged a careless shoulder, playing with the project in his hands. "I'm not going to be accepted in a college anyways, not with my grades, and not with all my 'discipline issues'. So what does it matter?"

Lancer sat back in his chair, quietly surveying the boy in front of him. The scrapes and redness from this morning were long gone, as was the frustrated green glint to his eyes. But there was something disturbing in the set of the teen's shoulders and the blank tone of his voice.

"Mr. Lancer?" the boy asked.

"You do have the most write-ups of anyone in the school," Lancer finally said. "By quite a few. However," he said, holding up a finger to stall whatever Danny had been about to say, "are they your fault?"

Confusion crept into the boy's eyes. "What?"

Lancer leaned forwards. "Answer the question, Danny. Are most of those write-ups your fault? Are they something you could have changed?"

"I dunno," Danny said, twisting his foot back and forth. "I suppose it depends on who you ask."

"I'm asking you."

There were a few seconds of quiet before Danny shrugged again. "Most of them are because of ghosts, I guess. So no?"

A tiny smile slid onto Lancer's face. "I happen to agree with you. Almost all of your discipline referrals are because you're not in class. And you're not in class because the ghosts don't _let_ you be in class."

"What does it matter?" Danny stared at him blankly.

"Let's _pretend_ ," Lancer made sure to emphasize that word, "that Mr. Baxter had the second most write-ups in the school-"

"I think Sam does," Danny said with a grin. "Tucker's probably a close third."

Lancer hesitated. "I tell you, the school will not know what to do with all the free time we'll have after you three graduate. But fine. Let's simply pretend that Mr. Baxter has a _lot_ of referrals as well." Lancer glanced at the boy, then continued. "What do you think he gets written up for the most?"

"Being an asshole," Danny said instantly. Then he flushed. "Sorry. I mean, you know, being a… bully."

"Something he is choosing to do, or something that's not his fault?"

Danny opened and closed his mouth a few times. "Yeah, I get the point, but I still don't get why that matters."

"It _matters_ ," Lancer said, pointing to the project in Danny's hands, "because that is one of the best projects in the school – which means you _can_ do the work when you're given the time and help. It _matters_ because the vast majority of your discipline problems are not your fault. It _matters_ because this is just high school." Lancer sat back in his chair and scowled. "It gets over quick, and you have your entire life ahead of you. You have a future ahead of you, if you'd choose to do something with it."

"Mr. Lancer-"

"You want to be in a science field. Astronomy, I'm still assuming. You have the brains for it. You have the desire for it. You just have more obstacles in your way than most other kids. Why are you letting them stop you?"

Danny's mouth clicked shut.

"Mr. Baxter is an obstacle. The ghosts are an obstacle. Your family is an obstacle. Your grades and these write-ups are just obstacles. Not insurmountable ones-"

"Mr. Lancer," Danny interrupted with a grin. "You're on your soap box again. I got the point two pages ago."

Lancer scowled. "I mean it, Danny. Stop letting Baxter push you around, and stop giving me pointless excuses. I watched you stalk up to a ghost three stories tall and deck him over the head. A teenager with six inches on you isn't a realistic problem."

"Yeah, I suppose," Danny said, looking down at his toes.

"Danny," Lancer sighed, knowing a deflection when he heard one. "I mean it."

"I'll try, okay?" Danny glanced up at him.

"And I want to see these grades go up," Lancer muttered, shaking the mouse on his desk to wake up the computer. It took only a few seconds to call up the boy's grades. "Especially the science and math grades – those are the subjects you're good at, for crying out loud. Nothing less than a C by the end of the quarter."

"I'll try-"

"You'll succeed," Lancer said, staring at the teen, watching Danny sink into his chair under his gaze. "If you need more time on something, or if the work starts to pile up too much and you need help, you'll _come talk to me_ and we'll figure something out. I will not accept anything less than a C from you from this point forwards."

Danny blinked at him. "But-"

"That includes gym class, because you failing that class again is ludicrous," Lancer continued, overriding Danny's complaints. "And that English project will be fixed and turned back in before Wednesday, hear me?"

"Yes sir," Danny finally mumbled. He looked down, playing with the corners of the plastic cover of his project again.

"God help me, child, you're going to give me an aneurism," Lancer muttered. "If I die trying to get you through high school and into a good college, I will come back to haunt you until you get a master's degree."

There was a quietly chuckled response to that.

"Now scram. I've got stuff to do." Lancer looked up when he didn't hear any sort of movement or response, only partly surprised to see his office devoid of teenage life.

* * *

It was barely twenty minutes later that Lancer shut off his computer, grabbed his satchel and coat, and headed for the door. Caught up on grading for once, Lancer stepped out into the cold February afternoon before the sun had set. He shivered, tucked his hands into his pockets, and headed quickly for his car.

His pace slowed as he realized that Daniel Fenton was still hanging around the parking lot. The boy was talking to tall figure wrapped in an expensive-looking trench coat, and the trapped, prey-like expression on Danny's face made little red flags spring to life in Lancer's brain.

Swerving away from his target, Lancer walked over to the teenager, stepping into the conversation with a bland smile, catching a moment of skin-crawling otherworldly language coming from Danny's mouth before the boy's jaw clicked shut. "Mr. Fenton," he said before turning to the taller figure. It was the mayor of the town. "Mr. Masters. Nice to see you."

Danny frowned. "I'm fine, Mr. Lancer," he said curtly.

"I didn't think you weren't," Lancer replied, furrowing his forehead in pretend confusion. He turned back to the mayor. "Am I interrupting an important conversation?"

"Of course not," the tall man answered smoothly, a smile on his face. "I just thought I'd swing by and give him a ride home. His parents and I are old college friends." Lancer caught sight of Danny's blanch out of the corner of his eye at the man's choice of words.

"Well, if I'm not interrupting anything…" Lancer turned to the teenager with a frown. "I let you out of your detention because you had a litany of important things you said you needed to do. If you can stand around in the parking lot for twenty minutes talking to a friend, you can serve your detention."

Danny's eyes went from confused to wide about halfway through Lancer's speech. "But-"

"No buts," Lancer said, pointing towards the school. "Detention."

The boy's mouth moved quietly a few times turning into a disaffected scowl, and he stalked towards the school doors, grumbling under his breath.

"I'm afraid he won't be able to take that ride," Lancer said, turning back to the mayor just in time to see a frown vanish from the man's face and be replaced by a smile. "Trying to teach responsibility, and all that."

"Oh, I understand," Mr. Masters replied smoothly. "I'm sure I'll catch him some other time." The man sent a glance towards the school. "Ta."

Lancer watched the man slip into the back of a limo and pull away from the curb before heading back towards the school. There was only a fifty-fifty shot that the boy had stuck around, but Lancer needed to check. Sure enough, he barely made it through the front doors before he found Daniel Fenton sulking against some lockers.

"I don't really have detention, do I?" the boy asked.

"No," Lancer said. "Who was that?"

Danny arched a confused eyebrow. "Vlad Masters? Billionaire? Mayor of the city? Donated, like, half the money to renovate the school last year?"

"I know who he is," Lancer said with a sigh. "But what I meant to ask is _who is he to you_?"

The kid looked away. "It's not important-"

"I haven't seen you look that terrified since your parents last threatened to chaperone a school dance," Lancer said, crossing his arms and leaning a shoulder against a wall. "Did he hurt you?"

Danny shook his head, but wouldn't look up.

"Is this something I need to tell your parents about?" Lancer asked. He tried to steer clear of the family topic – he wasn't entirely sure how much Danny's parents knew of their son's life and didn't want to know. But he'd had to draw a line in the sand somewhere about when to stick his nose in, and he'd made Danny well aware of where that line fell. The kid being hurt by the mayor of Amity Park was across that line.

"Mom knows already," Danny said, rubbing his neck with a hand. "Maybe not all of it, but enough that she gets the picture."

Lancer stared at the top of the kid's head, trying to determine if that was the truth or not. He finally decided to accept the answer with a nod - for now, anyways. "You could always get a restraining order-"

Danny's derisive snort brought Lancer up short. The boy glanced up at Lancer through his overly long hair. "If I promise to go straight home and not talk to weirdoes on the way, can I leave?"

"I suppose," Lancer said, grinning when the teen simply vanished right in front of him. Then he frowned, heading slowly back to his car and kneading the heel of his palm into his chest. Why was it that every time Lancer found out a different facet of Daniel Fenton's rather interesting life, he always got a bad case of heartburn?

The man got into his car, shivering while he waited for the heater to kick in. His eyes trailed back to where the mayor's limo had sat, curious about why the man had _really_ stopped by the school.

He was a smart man. He had all his grading done (for once). He had an entire evening at home to see if he could puzzle out the mystery of the mayor. If he'd figured out that Danny was some sort of quasi-ghost, he certainly could unravel this little enigma on the mayor's part. A grin ghosting over his lips, Lancer put his car into drive and headed home.


	2. Bonding - Jack, Phantom

**Bonding**  
A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordia

* * *

Phantom stood there, glaring at his father. Glowing bands circled his wrists, holding him trapped in the real world.

This was the forth time his father had captured him just this week. Either Phantom was having an extreme streak of bad luck, or his father had been holding back before. Each time, Jack trussed up the young ghost, strapped those bands around his wrist, and carted him back to the Fenton's lab.

Not to experiment on.

Not to analyze.

Not even to ask him endless questions about the ghost world.

But to play checkers.

"I hate checkers," Phantom said as Jack pulled out the checkers board yet again.

"I know," Jack grinned. "Black or red?" The man blinked at him expectantly, settling into his chair and gesturing towards the other.

From the last three times his father had captured him, Phantom knew that the quickest way out of this was simply to play the game. Arguing got him nowhere. Attempting to escape got him trapped in one of those sticky nets – three days later and he was still picking glue out of his hair. Sitting there and glaring got boring after several hours, his father happily going on and on about ghosts and fudge and paranormal history while he waited. "Black," Phantom grumbled, dropping into the offered chair. It was easiest just to buck up and take the punishment.

With quick movements, Jack set up the checkers. "You first," he said.

"You only want to play because you can beat me," Phantom said, moving a checker with his finger.

Jack grinned at him, moving his own piece. "Mads is too good at checkers to play against any more."

Several moves later, Phantom jumping his first piece to steal it, he asked the same question he'd asked the previous three games but never got an answer to. "Why?"

"Why is Mads better than me?" Jack quickly returned the favor, snatching one of Phantom's black pieces.

"No. Why are you doing this?" Phantom took the opening to move a piece further forwards into enemy territory. "Playing checkers with me." He looked up at Jack curiously.

Jack shrugged. "I'm a ghost researcher. I'm studying a ghost."

Snorting, Phantom moved another piece. The man seemed to go out of his way to prevent the ghost from getting hurt, and hadn't asked him any pressing questions. In fact, Phantom had the suspicion that if told Jack those bands around his wrists were hurting him, Jack would remove them in just a few seconds and not put them back on. What he didn't understand was _why_. Why did his father suddenly care enough about a ghost to sit down and play checkers with him?

"Don't believe me?" Jack asked.

"What are you learning?" Phantom sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Other than the fact that I suck at checkers."

After jumping three of Phantom's pieces and stacking them neatly in the corner, Jack sat back too, crossing his arms in a bizarre mirror image of the ghost.

The man was silent for so long that Phantom spoke up again. "I mean, I always expected you guys to dissect me or experiment on me if you caught me, or at least bombard me with questions."

"You learn a lot from checkers."

Phantom arched a dubious eyebrow. "Like?"

"Like you can learn. You can adapt. You don't make the same mistakes twice. You can get bored. And lots of other things." Jack gestured towards the board. "Your move."

With a sigh, Phantom moved a piece. It was almost instantly swept away by one of Jack's pieces. "Yeah, but-" He broke off, not really sure he wanted to know the answer the question he'd almost asked. In his head, he could only come up with _one_ reason why Jack would go out of his way to capture a ghost and not hurt it – and that wasn't a reason he wanted to get into.

"But?" Jack stole another of the ghost's pieces. It was rapidly dissolving into a one-sided game again. Despite Jack's boisterous attitude, the man was crazily smart. He probably could have trounced Phantom at checkers while blindfolded and calculating advanced statistics equations in his head.

"Never mind," Phantom said quietly, snagging one of Jack's pieces and playing with it as the man ravaged through his side of the board. He twisted and twirled the piece between his fingers, watching the way the light flashed on the shiny plastic.

Jack picked up the board and moved it, setting it aside, before setting a thick folder down on the table. "I had this idea," Jack said, "months ago. That there was something different and special about you."

The little hairs on the ghost's neck went up. He did _not_ want his parents getting into how different from the other ghosts he really was. "I'm not different," he said.

"Oh, yes you are," Jack corrected. He flipped through the folder. Graphs and charts and data tables spilled across the paper, with lines and lines of numbers and letters. "Mads didn't believe me, so when she vanished off to her conference, I took the opportunity to test my theory."

Phantom's mother had left for a weeklong conference six days ago. Jack had captured him for the first time just hours after his mother had left the city. Phantom mentally kicked himself for not putting those two facts together on his own. "And?"

"And I was right!" Jack's hand hit the table, palm down, the grin on his face looking wide enough to split his face in half. "You're definitely different from the other ghosts we've studied, and now I have proof!"

Licking his lips, Phantom picked up a few of the pages, looking for something he could understand. But, like most of his parents' research, it was gibberish to anyone without a Ph.D in spectral analysis. There was nothing obviously damning, however. No sticky notes or red pen in the margins that said Phantom was their son.

Jack sighed, making the ghost look up. The man had a frown on his face, forehead wrinkled in thought, fiddling with the pages and pages of data. "I'm not entirely sure _how_ you're different yet, though. Or why." Then he brightened. "That's why I keep catching you. I'm going to figure you out."

Phantom blinked. "You keep catching me because you think I'm different," he repeated slowly. "Not because you just want someone to play checkers with you."

"That too," Jack said with a wink. "I get sick of losing. And Mads is a poor winner." He reached out and snagged the checkers piece Phantom was still holding in his hand. "Besides, you _are_ getting better. Sooner or later, you'll catch on."

The ghost doubted that. He seemed to be losing faster. The prospect of 'sooner or later', though, was a cold bucket of ice down his spine. "How many more games is that going to take?" There was a pathetic whine to his voice.

Jack looked like he was about to answer when the ghost radar beeped. Getting out of his chair, Jack hurried over to the radar and stared down at it. "Level four," he said after a few minutes, grinning as he turned around and started grabbing weaponry. "I'm going to go catch it."

"Awesome," Phantom muttered. "Does that mean I can leave?"

A weapon flew at him. Phantom barely got his hands in the way, snagging the ectopistol out of the air before it rapped him on the forehead. "You get to come with," Jack said.

"You want me to go _ghost hunting_ with you?" The last thing he wanted to do was ghost hunting with his father. But at least he'd be free to use his ghost powers and run away. "When are you going to take the bands off?"

"You should learn," the voice was muffled because his father was rummaging through a box, "to hunt ghosts the human way. It'll be fun."

Phantom's stomach tumbled to his feet. Jack wasn't going to take them off? "The human way?" Phantom walked over to the man and gave him the look that comment deserved. "If there's one thing I suck at worse than checkers, it's ghost hunting _the human way._ "

Jack pulled out of the box just long enough to blink at him. "How would you know?"

Unwilling to answer that question, Phantom stalked over to the stairs and dropped onto the bottom step. Ectoweapon loose in his grip, he watched his father collect the last of the weapons and analyzers and bound over to the steps. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad.

Those happened to be famous last words.


	3. Bring Me a Dream - Danny, Phantom

**Bring Me a Dream**  
A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

 _Danny/Phantom (extremely minor pitch pearl, but warning anyways)_

* * *

It started just before Danny's fifteenth birthday – not all that long after Freakshow showed up with his circus and Desiree tried to destroy him by erasing everyone's memory. Strange, odd dreams that Danny couldn't ever understand and only barely remembered the next day.

He shook his head as he slowly got to his feet and looked around at a landscape he'd seen every night for weeks. He _had_ to be dreaming again. The sky was bright oranges and reds, spotted with puffy black clouds. The sand underfoot was a strange tone of purple, with lurid red-orange waves crashing loudly nearby. Purplish trees, bushes, and grass dotted the landscape. The sun overhead was a brilliant violet-black.

He spun on his heel. "Hello?" he asked. It echoed back at him, _olleh?_

After a few seconds of no answer – there wasn't ever an answer – he stared to walk along the beach, leaving a trailing line of footprints behind him. He always went the same way – East – and he knew what would happen next. Just up around the point would be a bunch of rocks covered in a rainbow of barnacles and other crawling creatures. Birds flew overhead, calling to each other.

It took some work to scramble over the slippery rocks, Danny scraping his knee and palm several times. Sucking on a particularly deep wound, Danny jumped off the last rock onto the next stretch of beach. It looked just like the beach he'd appeared on, with one difference.

Sitting in the middle of the beach was a boy. About Danny's age with messy brown hair and hazel eyes, the boy never seemed to notice Danny's presence. Each time, the boy was making something different in the sand. This time, he was building a sand castle, slowly mounding the sand higher and higher.

Cut palm still in his mouth, Danny walked until he was about twenty feet away from the boy, then settled down onto the purple sand. This was how his dreams went the last few weeks: him sitting there, watching this strange boy play with sand on a beach. It was definitely a weird dream.

It took hours for the boy to finish his castle. It was delicately constructed just beyond the reach of the crashing red-orange ocean, complete with a moat, turrets, and windows. Multi-colored sea shells formed decorations, flags, and even a door.

"Are you done?" Danny asked when the boy sat back on his heels to admire his creation. _Enod uoy era?_ echoed quietly back at him from the distance.

Working his lip between his teeth, the boy made a few careful adjustments to the castle. Then nodded, got up, and walked away without a word.

Danny – who usually woke up about this point and was curious to see how far he'd get this time – got to his feet and followed. The sand was crumbling under his shoes, making it difficult to keep up with the quick-moving, nameless boy. "Wait up!" _Pu tiaw!_

The purple sand turned to a tall ledge of purple rocks. Even without shoes, the boy scaled the sharp rocks quickly, disappearing over the top. Danny waited at the bottom, clenching and unclenching his hands. He never made it to the top. The few times he'd made it this far into the dream, he always fell partway up and woke up during the fall.

Really, it was a dream and Danny knew he could (and probably _should_ ) just turn around and wander along the beach until he woke up. But some strange force was pushing him to do this, just like it always pushed him East down the beach and to sit and watch the boy build in the sand. He _needed_ to know what was on top of the rocks.

Gritting his teeth, he reached for the rocks, finding precarious footholds and slippery hand rests as he worked his way upwards. Five feet, then ten, and then the top was _just right there_ when his foot slipped.

"No!" he yelped, holding on tight with his hands, refusing to fall. _On!_ His shoes scrambled at the slick rock, unable to get a purchase. Fingers tiring quickly, Danny knew it was just a few moments before he'd fall again. "Help!" _Pleh!_

A head poked over the edge. Brown hair, with hazel eyes, this time staring right at him. Those hazel eyes narrowed slightly before the boy reached out a hand for him.

Danny – startled and relieved to be saved from falling yet again – grabbed the proffered limb and was yanked over the edge. He toppled into thick, tall grass. For a second, he sat there and breathed and stared around. Red-orange grass swayed in a nonexistent breeze. Strangely shaped trees dotted the horizon.

"Em gniwollof uoy era yhw?" The voice was curious, but the words were garbled and alien. It wasn't until the faint echo reached Danny's ears that he could make sense of it. _Why are you following me?_

Turning his attention to the boy, Danny slowly got to his feet. "I wanted to see where you were going."

The boy tipped his head to the side, listening to the echo of Danny's words. "Em wollof t'nod." _Don't follow me_ , the echo whispered.

"Okay," Danny said, standing still as the boy started to walk off into the grass. "Who are you, anyways?"

Hazel eyes looked blankly back at him, then the boy pointed upwards. Danny followed the finger, staring up into the sky, startled to find that the sun was gone, replaced by a sky so bright he had to squint. Pure white, speckled with dark splotches of color. It was like the night sky had been flipped on end – a complete negative of what it would be in the real world.

"That doesn't answer…" Danny trailed off, looking around as he realized he was alone. "Hey!" _Yeh!_

He ran through the grass, following the slight trail left by the boy. It took only a few seconds to catch up. Danny ignored the annoyed scowl and eye roll. "Enola em evael t'now uoy won dna raey a rof em erongi," the boy muttered.

Danny waited for the echo to explain what that meant, but the phrase was too long and confusing to catch. "Sorry, I missed that." He followed along beside the boy, cutting a swatch through the red-orange grass that often towered over their heads. White gleamed overhead, illuminating everything in a dark flare of color.

They walked in silence for a long, quiet few minutes. Danny kept peering around, interested in the strange, dream landscape. Finally, he couldn't keep it in anymore. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Ynnad." The boy stared at him, long and silent. "Pu ekaw."

"I don't understand," Danny said. "What language is that?"

There was an almost sympathetic smile that curled on the boy's lips. "Pu ekaw, Ynnad. Gnimaerd er'uoy."

Danny shook his head.

"Ynnad," the boy said firmly. _Danny_ , the echo whispered.

"What?"

The boy took a step closer. "Ynnad." _Danny_. The echo was louder.

"That's my name. Ynnad. That's how you say my name."

A corner of the boy's lips quirked upwards. "Ynnad." This time his voice was a whisper, the echo nearly deafeningly loud. _Danny_.

Danny stared into those hazel eyes, startled to see the swirls of color – greens and blues and browns. "What's your name?"

"Niaga em tisiv emoc," the boy said. "Taht ekil d'i."

"That's a long name," Danny murmured, just as something grabbed his shoulder and jerked him out of his dream.

Confused, Danny flailed for a second, wrapping himself up in his blankets as he sat up and blinked in the bright morning sunshine. "Morning," his mother's voice chimed through his brain.

Danny stared blankly at her for a moment. Then he yawned as his brain finally processed where he was. In his bed. Awake. Needing to get ready for school. "G'morning," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"You sleep like the dead lately," his mother added, grabbing some of the dirty laundry off the floor on her way out of his room. "Up."

"Yeah, yeah," Danny grumbled, waiting for the door to close before lurching out of his bed to start his day.

.

Danny barely remembered his dream all day. It wasn't until he curled up in his bed, eyes closing, that he remembered the strange purple beaches and blood-red waves and black sun. And it was mostly because there he was again, standing on a beach, red ocean water lapping at his feet.

Like clockwork, his feet turned to the East, traveling slowly along the beach. Over the rocky outcropping, scraping his hand – again – on a barnacle, then dropping down onto the beach on the other side, Danny found the brown-haired boy making what looked like a sand starfish. A big one, perhaps five feet across.

"That's neat." _Taen s'taht_ , his echo whispered.

Unlike their previous encounters, the boy actually glanced at him. Hazel eyes narrowed every so slightly, but he didn't speak.

"Why do you build these?" Danny didn't sit down a polite twenty feet away – he walked over and stood next to the sand pile, crouching down to touch the purple sand. _Eseht dliub uoy od yhw?_ his voice echoed back. He gently brushed his fingers against the sand, then looked up at the boy.

The boy was staring at him, looking confused and nervous. His eyes kept flicking between Danny's face and the sand sculpture Danny was touching.

"What was your name again?" Danny took his hand away from the sand, watching some of the stress leach away from the boy's shoulders. "Neg-ah something?"

Hands were threaded through the boy's hair, arms partially blocking his face. Then he seemed to come to a conclusion, settling down next to the starfish and carefully continuing to sculpt – completely ignoring Danny's presence.

Danny settled down in the sand, his knees inches from the sand sculpture. The red waves roared behind them as Danny watched the boy work. "Well, if you're not going to talk to me, I'll call you Negah. You'll have to correct me if that's wrong."

Other than a slight tensing of the boy's body, there wasn't a response.

"How did you know my name was Danny? Or Ynnad, I guess?" Danny propped his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. "I guess this is a dream, so maybe it makes sense that you just know."

Hazel eyes flicked over to his.

With nothing better to do – and not really wanting to sit in silence – Danny kept up his monologue to his strange dream companion. "It's really weird, you being in my dreams."

"Maerd ym ni ruoy ebyam," Negah murmured. The echo rolled the words around. _Maybe… dream_.

Danny grinned. "So you _can_ talk when you're on the beach." He grinned. "You've been in my dreams for _weeks_ , why don't you ever talk to me?" When there wasn't an answer, Danny's smile faded. "Can I help?" He reached for the sand.

" _On_!" the boy said, moving so fast that he almost seemed to teleport. His fingers circled around Danny's wrist, stopping him from touching the sand. "Enim."

Suddenly having Negah's face only inches away, Danny swallowed. He wasn't quite sure what he'd done wrong, but it was obvious that the sand sculpture wasn't to be touched. "Sorry." _Yrros,_ his voice echoed.

"Ynnad, oot siht ekat t'nod esaelp. Esle gnihtyreve teg uoy." There was a quiet, almost desperate pleading in Negah's voice.

Even though Danny didn't understand the words, he thought he got the idea. "I won't touch it," he said.

The little smile on the boy's face made Danny smile. "Sknaht," Negah whispered.

"Sk-nay-th," Danny parroted.

Negah tipped his head slightly, then seemed to start when he realized he was still holding Danny's hand. Dropping the wrist like he'd been burnt, he made a little shooing motion with his hands. "Yawa og."

Danny scooted a few feet further back, glancing at the boy with a grin to see if he was far enough away. Watching Negah get back to work, creating a beautifully detailed starfish out of purple sand, Danny chewed on his lip. "I still don't understand why you're here." When there was no reply coming, Danny scowled. "I know you can talk, and I'm pretty sure you can understand me."

Negah shot him a look. "Em dnatsrednu t'nac uoy tub." _But… n't und… me_ , the echo breathed.

Stymied by an answer he couldn't understand, Danny rested his chin on his hand and quietly watched Negah finish creating his starfish. The movements were repetitive and almost hypnotic. Danny found himself sitting there, lulled into a dull blankness, and startled when fingers snapped in front of his eyes.

"Ynnad."

He blinked and stared up at Negah. "Huh?"

"Enod m'i."

"Nuhd my?" Danny echoed, tipping his head, trying to understand the words. It wasn't until Negah stepped back and pointed at the starfish that Danny caught on. "Oh. You're done." Scrambling to his feet, Danny looked at the creation. The sand starfish had all the bumps and points of a real starfish. "It's… really realistic."

Negah grinned, a blush on his cheeks. "No emoc." He gestured towards the rock cliff in the distance. _Come on,_ the echo returned.

Finally given something to do, Danny bounded to his feet. "Let's go!" He walked next to Negah, glancing around. The birds were looping overhead wildly today. "How come you never talked to me before?"

He got nothing but a shrug.

"Come on," Danny said, elbowing the boy gently. "You've been lurking in my dreams for weeks. How come you never said anything?"

"Uoy ot yas ot evah I dluow tahw?" Negah's voice was a sarcastic, twisted, dark whisper. Danny – not catching the meaning of the words – glanced at him with an arched eyebrow. The boy stared hard at the ground, face flushing slightly. "Tsohg a tsuj m'i."

Lost as to what Negah's sudden problem was, Danny let the boy walk in silence. It wasn't until they reached the red, slippery rocks at the edge of the beach that Danny groaned and broke the silence. "Want to watch me fall again?"

"Seohs ruoy ffo ekat," Negah murmured.

"What?" Danny paused in his reach for a handhold.

The boy glanced at him from under the mess of brown hair. "Seohs." He pointed towards Danny's feet. "Ffo."

Danny stared at his feet, rolling the words around in his head. "Sue-sh," he breathed. Then he brightened, grinning at Negah. "Shoes! Yeah, I have shoes."

"Ffo meht ekat. Ffo."

When Danny just narrowed his eyes, unable to discern any sort of meaning from the garble, Negah sighed, dropped the few feet he'd already started to climb, and grabbed at Danny's legs. "Hey!" Danny said, trying to shift away, but Negah was fast. Danny's shoes were gone, his socks stripped off, before he really knew what was happening.

"Ffo seohs," Negah said firmly. "Pleh ll'ti."

"I liked my shoes," Danny said, looking to where they laid on the beach. White against the violently purple sand, they stood out like bright beacons.

Negah scowled and started to climb, making his way up the slippery rocks like he was climbing stairs. Danny reached for a handhold, following with quick, deliberate movements. He wasn't nearly as fast, but he made it up without falling. Levering himself over the top of the cliff and into the waving grass, Danny grinned. "That was a lot easier."

The sky overhead had transitioned back to white, dotted with tiny black specks. Walking through the orange-red grass, running his fingers along the thick stems, Danny laughed. He – after weeks of dreaming about this world – finally caught on to what was happening and why everything was so weirdly colored.

"Tahw?" came Negah's interested question.

"Everything in here is backwards, isn't it?" Danny asked. "The sky is backwards, the grass is the exact wrong color." He stared at Negah. "And you, you're _talking_ backwards, aren't you? It's not some weird language. It's English, just… backwards."

Negah arched an eyebrow. "Tnaillirb," he murmured.

Danny walked along, rolling the idea around in his head. "Ynnad. That's just Danny backwards. And Negah … that's… Neg-ah. Ah-gen." He came to a stop, confused. "Again? That's not a name."

The boy shrugged and kept walking. "Em ton, ti dekcip uoy."

"What's your _real_ name?" Danny asked, having to run a bit to catch up. When there wasn't an answer, Danny reached for the boy's shoulder, spinning him around to face him. "Come on. You're lurking around in my dreams. You can at least tell me what your name is."

"Em ot klat t'now uoy." Hazel eyes stared into his, deep and glittering in the not-light of the white night sky. "Wonk ot tnaw t'nod uoy." After a second of silence, the boy squirmed. "Og em tel."

Danny let the boy slip away into the grass, confused. After a second, he trailed after. For a long few quiet moments, there was no sound but the wind in the grass and the sound of their feet on the ground. "Why are you _in_ my dreams?" Danny asked for what felt like the fifth time. "Who are you?"

Suddenly the grass stopped. The ground stopped. Danny – lost in his own thoughts – would have toppled over the cliff if it weren't for the boy's hand reaching out to grab his shirt and haul him backwards. "Luferac."

"Woah," Danny breathed, creeping up to the edge of the cliff and staring down. The red-orange ground vanished into dark shadow far, far away. Little speckles of white shone like stars. "What is this?"

"Diov eht."

"What's down there?" Danny looked up at the boy standing behind him. The blackness seemed to reflect in the boy's hazel eyes.

"Wonk t'nod I." The boy crouched down next to him, picking up a rock and holding it over the edge. He let go, watching the stone tumble into the shadows and disappear. "Gnihtemos."

Danny squinted, trying to see the rock. "So you don't know what it is either," Danny translated. He shot a look at his companion, caught the sheepish look on the boy's face, and grinned. "So whoever you are, you're not some sort of all-knowing dream guide."

Eyes rolling were his answer. "Emoc." A hand moved in a _follow me_ gesture. Danny peered down over the cliff for a second more before levering to his feet and following. It wasn't very many feet before a tree loomed overhead, the boy already halfway up. He paused, looking down at Danny. "Emoc."

"Yeah, yeah," Danny muttered, reaching for the low-hanging branches and hauling himself up into the red-orange leaves. The bark was a strange blue-purple with strands of orange and yellow woven into it. "Hold your horses."

Finally emerging at the top, Danny settled onto a high branch and stared around. There was the ocean, with its blood-red waves. And the field they'd been walking through. And the huge expanse of black nothingness. And – over in the distance – a mountain covered in black.

"What's that?"

"Niatnuom a," the boy said. "Ereth neeb reven ev'i."

Danny tore his eyes off the imposing mountain to glance at the boy. "That's not helpful," he said, not sure exactly what the boy had said but figuring it wasn't anything particularly useful. The sarcastic smirk he got as a response said he'd read the tone of the boy's voice correctly. "We should go explore it."

The smile vanished. "On."

"Why not?" Danny asked, turning back to the mountain, and scanning the horizon for other things to see. "It looks neat."

"Hcaeb eht no yats I." A hand reached out and hesitantly touched Danny's shoulder. "Pu ekaw ot uoy rof emit s'ti."

Danny glanced over at him. "What?"

Hazel eyes turned upwards. Danny looked up too, noting the darkness that was leaching from the sky. Color was starting to drain from the world and leak down into the shadowed crevasse.

"Og. Pu ekaw."

Catching on to the fact that he was waking up, Danny turned to the strange boy. "I'm not leaving until you tell me what your name is."

The boy looked flustered as he shook his head. "Ynnad, og."

"No." Danny grabbed hold of a branch and levered himself up until he was sitting there, face inches away from the boy's. All around them, the color was draining from the world. A sound like a rushing freight train was starting to echo around them. "Name."

"Ynnad…"

Danny set his jaw.

A look of terrified defeat settled in the boy's hazel eyes. "Motnahp," he whispered.

"Mot-naf," Danny repeated, tilting his head to the side as he tried to twist it around in his brain. "Fan… tom?"

A foot settled onto his chest. Danny had just enough time to look down, startled, before the foot pushed him sharply backwards. With a yelp, Danny fell through the now-gray-colored tree.

And woke with a startled gasp on his bed, curled up in the blankets. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, looking around his room. Running a hand through his hair, Danny stared out the window at the glowing sunshine.


	4. Catchy - Danny

**Catchy**  
A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

The chair was hard, rigid, and unforgiving, and it was only getting worse as time wore on. The glare of the computer monitor made his eyes burn. Danny stretched and groaned and felt his spine shift as he yawned, fighting to keep himself awake. Massaging his aching neck, he twisted around to look at the rest of the lab.

His mother was happily staring at a monitor on the other side of the lab, keeping track of every blip and blob that passed by. His father had commandeered the only comfortable chair in the lab (meaning: the only one that still had some padding left after months of ectoplasmic explosions) and was, at least if the snores were any indication, fast asleep in front of the third monitor.

"Mom?" Danny asked, trying his best not to sound grouchy after three-and-some hours of being trapped in a dark lab with his parents doing something pointless on a particularly nice June day.

"Yes, sweetie?" she answered, not talking her eyes off her monitor.

"Can we be done soon?" Danny glanced at the experiment he was supposed to be paying attention to. The computer screen showed an up-and-down zig-zag line that looked a lot like the line on those heartbeat monitors from TV shows. Danny was supposed to be recording the time stamps for any 'aberrations' that appeared in the pattern.

"Just a little bit longer, sweetheart. We're almost done."

Danny scowled and tried to slouch, but the hard plastic back of the chair dug uncomfortably into his shoulder blades and made him sit back upright. "You said that an hour ago," he muttered under his breath.

His mother leaned towards her computer monitor. "I almost have enough data for a correlation…" Her voice trailed off, busily scratching notes on her clipboard.

Danny's own clipboard was mostly devoid of writing. The pattern on the screen was erratic and twisting, making it nearly impossible for Danny to even tell when one of these 'aberrations' was occurring. Setting the clipboard down on the desk, Danny rested his elbows by the keyboard and scrubbed at his eyes with his palms. Despite the risks involved, Danny was very close to turning invisible and running away. The unconscious plea behind that thought had Danny's fingers starting to vanish.

Then he remembered why he was here: the weekend trip with Sam. _And Tucker_ , his thoughts tagged on after a second. He would work a few hours in the lab helping his parents finish up this stupid experiment, and they'd give him the money to go on the trip. A whole weekend without _adult supervision_ at a beach house. A whole weekend without ghosts. A whole weekend with Sam.

…and Tucker.

He forced his hands back into the visible realm as he grabbed the clipboard and the pencil and focused on the computer screen. The line on the screen – a line Danny still didn't understand what it was measuring or why, and he really didn't care to ask – zipped up and down and up and down and up and up and down…

He zoned. His eyes glazed over. The pencil in his fingers played a little rat-a-tat-tat on the clipboard as he struggled to stay awake and focus. He really wanted the money for that trip.

The tapping of his pencil was forming a pattern. Rap ta-tap-tap rap rap ta-tap-tap… Danny allowed a small smirk to flit across his lips. It was the drum line to that stupid song that was making its rounds in the ghost zone. Practically everyone was singing that silly Ember song. The one Sam would probably enjoy listening to, if she could ever understand it.

With a roll of his eyes, Danny yawned and hoped that Ember never caught him tapping out the beat to her latest siren song. He'd never live it down.

But it was catchy, in its own way. Even once he calibrated for her hypnotic overtones, it still had a catchy chorus. He tapped with the pencil, feeling his head bob, and hummed quietly.

"S'crezaat l'Portraq, nava k'yrecka seh ela," Danny sang under his breath, watching the zig-zag line flick up and down and up and down and the rap ta-tap-tap of his pencil against the clipboard. "S'vartlka l'Za l'maniita sn'Krecyf ken struktela…"

Completely unaware of the lights flickering to life on one of his parents' devices, Danny sank back in his chair. He was entranced by the way the little zig-zag line seemed to be moving in time to the melody of the song.

"K'ventra el seh, k'carvreta el seh, j'illuelmanipt m'Robwr yh j'maniitapt jn'Roobwr tret Nukch ezaleh…"

Danny was sure of it by now. The line _was_ bouncing perfectly to the beat of Ember's catchy…

new…

tune…

"Proxana," Danny hissed, suddenly very much awake as he stared at the line zigging up and down. Ember! Somehow, this line was tracking the tune of Ember's song!

His brain spun, trying to figure out how Ember could be affecting the human world. He _knew_ she was in the ghost zone. Perhaps all the ghosts singing at once created some sort of crossover effect into this-

" _Fear me!_ " the Ghost Gabber chirped. Danny's brain stuttered to a stop, twisting around in horror. Lights flickered on the device as it dutifully parroted the lyrics using his parents' bad translation program – and did it loudly. " _I lost the promise, please you remove me from here. Fear me! I want the darkness to create my future you happiness. Fear me! Run with me, sing with me, we will break their world and we will create our home in shining pieces damn it! Fear me!"_

Frozen in place, Danny stared at the tiny device. He hadn't even known it was there, much less on and working. And now-

" _MADS!_ " His father's shout practically made Danny levitate, his heart jumping into his throat. Hadn't the man been sleeping? " _GHOST!"_

Danny looked up as his parents hustled towards him. His father scooped up the Ghost Gabber (version 1) and his mother the Fenton Ghost Locator (version 3). With excited grins on their faces, they twisted around, searching for any sign of the ghost that had set off the Ghost Gabber.

" _The ghost is right in front of you_ ," the Ghost Locator said snippily when Maddie pivoted on her heel until it was pointed at Danny. " _You would have to be a complete moron to not see the ghost."_

"Danny," his mother said, sounding very serious. There was a frown on her face as she stared from him to the radar screen and back to him.

Danny felt his heart stutter in his chest and his eyes widen. "What?" he whispered. His gaze skittered down to the radar and back to her face. There was no way she'd figured him out… not after all this time… not _now_ …

" _What? Fear me!"_ the Ghost Gabber chimed in unhelpfully.

A rather large gun appeared in his father's hands, pointed right at him. There was a whine as it powered up, the glow from the ectoplasmic power core casting his parents' faces in sharp shadows.

There was silence in Danny's ears as his heart seemed to stop. The blood drained from his face and the room spun dizzily. No way! They weren't actually going to _shoot_ him!

"Don't be afraid," his mother said soothingly, bringing her own ectoweapon out of its holster and pointing it in his direction, "but there's a ghost right behind you."

Danny's heart restarted, thumping loudly in his ears. A ghost behind him. Not _him._ Relief made him feel weak. He moved his mouth ineffectively, wanting to say something, but not wanting to be parroted by the Ghost Gabber again.

"Go upstairs," his father said. "We'll make sure it doesn't follow you."

Nodding, Danny got to his feet and hurried towards the stairs. His shoes squeaked on the concrete floor.

"It must be a dangerous one, Mads," his father continued. "Did you hear it say something about breaking the world?"

"Jack," his mother said, concern coloring her voice. "Look at the radar! The ghost… it's following Danny!"

Danny didn't wait to hear anything more. He raced up the steps three at a time and vanished as soon as he was out of sight. Two seconds later he was airborne and through the roof and into the bright afternoon sunshine. Not wanting to find out what his parents were planning, Danny took off towards Sam's house.

He found himself humming Ember's catchy new tune and frowned. Sam and Tucker would have to help him track this down. Hopefully the fiery siren wasn't planning some sort of world domination via soundtrack again, but one couldn't ever be too careful.

And hopefully they'd figure it out before this weekend. Because Danny was really, _really_ looking forwards to those two adult-free days at the beach with Sam.

…and Tucker.


	5. Chores - Danny, Jack

**Chores**  
A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

"The lab isn't clean."

Danny didn't look up from his book when his father spoke. With less than two weeks of school left – and eight months of procrastinating on this English assignment behind him – Danny no longer had the time to spare to give his father the look that comment deserved. "So?"

"Cleaning the lab is your-"

"Mom forbade me from ever cleaning the lab again." Danny squinted down at the text in his book, eventually gave up understanding the sentence with a shrug, and deigned to look up at his dad.

The man was standing in front of him, arms crossed, a pout on his face. "But if you don't do it, I have to."

With a shrug, Danny said, "Take it up with Mom. I would if I could, but I can't." It was one of the small blessings that came from his parents cottoning on that he was part ghost and that being around unfinished and untested ghost hunting equipment wasn't always the safest thing in the world: he no longer had to clean the lab.

He went back to his book, attempting to tackle the next set of lines. Despite having listened to his teacher ramble on about Shakespeare for weeks, Danny didn't have a clue how to interpret this.

"You can't just shirk from all your chores because it's not _safe_ ," his father said, his voice almost whining. "Do you know who has to do them if you don't? Me!"

Danny worked to keep the glee out of his voice as he slunk deeper into the couch and kept his eyes on his book. "Lab, Ops Center, weapons locker, random drawers where you leave ghost hunting equipment, the second hallway closet, the tops of the kitchen cabinets, and the stove. Touching is off limits. _Forbade_." He really liked that word. His mother had used it several times during her 'safety' rant. He snuck a glance at his father's despondent face, completely unable to keep the satisfied grin off his face. "Sorry."

"But Jazz is gone to college. You're the only one left."

"Mom'll suck me into the Fenton Weasel again if I go messing with the stuff in the lab, even if it's just to clean it."

"But I don't like doing chores."

Danny shrugged again, failing at giving his father an apologetic look. "And I don't like being in the Fenton Weasel. So…"

"You've cleaned the lab for _years_ without any-"

"Jack," came Danny's mother's voice from the next room, thick with a warning tone. Danny's grin widened as he hid behind his book, pretending to be working. His father slumped. "Danny's not going into the lab."

"But Mads-," the man whined.

"But nothing," she interrupted, walking out of the kitchen with her purse and a light jacket thrown over her arm. "You are not endangering your son's life just to get out of a little bit of cleaning." She walked over and touched Jack's arm gently, smiling up at him. "Besides, Danny'll be off to college in another year and you're going to have to get used to cleaning on your own anyways."

Danny stiffened at the mention of college. He didn't like thinking about leaving his home.

"I'm going shopping," his mother continued, her eyes sharp as they watched Jack's face. "Please be in one piece when I get back."

"Fine," Jack agreed glumly. "I'll clean the lab."

Maddie patted his arm, then ruffled Danny's hair on her way past. "I'll be home in an hour or so," she called as the door slammed shut behind her.

"You can help weed the garden, then."

Danny unburied his face from his book, looking up at his father with a groan. The garden - unfortunately - wasn't on the list of places he wasn't allowed to go. "Gee, Dad, I'd really like to, but I need to get this done-"

"But nothing," Jack said, taking the book out of Danny's hands and setting it on the table. Danny lurched for it, wanting to save his place so he didn't have to go back and reread, but his father had closed the book too quickly. "Chores are good for a young man."

Danny sat there, his mouth hanging slightly open. He'd been _so close_ to getting out of doing chores all together. "But-"

"It'll take like a half hour and you can come read some more." The man grabbed Danny's arm and hauled him to his feet. "It'll be fun."

"Fun?" Danny muttered as his father dragged him out of the living room, through the kitchen, and into the back yard. When had chores ever equated to fun? It had the potential to be less boring than trying to read that play for school, but Danny highly doubted it would be _fun_.

He trailed unhappily after his father, accepting the gardening gloves with a silent glower, then turned to face the garden. He stopped, blinking in surprise.

Every other year of his life, the Fenton's 'garden' had been little more than some weed-filled dirt where Jazz attempted to grow some small vegetables. More often then not, the plants were forgotten, died after never getting watered over the summer, and weeds usually overtook the bit of land by August. He was expecting to see a bunch of the usual weeds – nothing major to tackle.

This year, the garden was lush and full of green. From Danny's un-garden-friendly eyes, it all seemed to be the same plant. Spiky green leaves and slender, reddish sticks and tiny white flowers. The neighbor's fence was hidden behind the thick brush. "What happened to the garden?" Danny asked, feeling his heart sink. This wasn't going to be a quick, half-hour project. This was going to take _hours_ to clear.

His father clamped a hand on his shoulder. The dirty gardening gloves left a hand print on Danny's shirt. "Some project your mother was working on last autumn. It failed, but the damned plant sure grows quick."

Danny walked over to the garden, peering into the foliage. There were vines everywhere. "This isn't a half-hour thing, Dad," he mentioned.

"I'll help." Jack grinned at him. "The city says it needs to come out."

Traversing the edge of the garden, Danny shot his father a glance. "The _city_ says it needs to come out?"

"Apparently it's starting to take over the neighbor's house." Jack shrugged, then reached out and grabbed a hold of several plants, jerking them from the ground. "Try to get the roots too, so it doesn't grow back."

Danny poked a plant, then grabbed it near the ground and pulled. It came out, taking a chunk of the ground with it. The plant's roots were yellow-orange and trailed everywhere. Vines connected the plants to each other with strong, pencil-sized trailers. The one in Danny's hand was attached to the next, and a sharp tug didn't break it off. "Don't they have, like, a spray that kills weeds?"

"Doesn't work." Jack's voice sounded almost gleeful. "We tried to use that for a selling point, but apparently nobody wants to market a weed you can't kill."

"Can't imagine why," Danny muttered. He wadded a few feet into the thick plants, then crouched down and started to pull everything within reach. The plants had to be pulled in sequence; the crisscrossing vines made it like a puzzle to be undone.

It didn't take more than about a minute for Danny to be surrounded by pulled-out plants. But, curiously, there was a burning sensation starting all along his arms. He paused, looking at his arms, surprised to see dozens of welts popping up. It almost looked like he'd been attacked by a hive of bees. As he sat there and stared at them, it was starting to _feel_ like he'd been attacked by a hive of bees. The burning was quickly turning into a painful sting.

"Um, Dad?" Danny asked, looking up. His father was busy yanking plants. Danny sighed and stood up, intending on getting out of the garden and figuring out what was up with his arms, only he couldn't move his feet. The vines had somehow gotten tangled around his legs, several having worked their way up his pant legs to curl around his ankles. "What the…" He jerked on a foot, feeling the vines dig into his skin. "Ow!"

The exclamation of pain must have gotten his father's attention. "Danny? You okay?"

"No," Danny said with a scowl. "I'm stuck and my arms…"

His father tromped over and looked at Danny's arms. "Huh. You must be allergic to something in the plant."

"Must be," Danny said, his voice dark. The skin on his arms was starting to feel like it was crawling. He pulled on his foot again, stopping when the vines pulled painfully on his skin. "Can you get me out of these vines? It really hurts."

"Give me a second," Jack muttered, kneeling and pulling the vines away from Danny's feet. Curiously, as soon as Jack cleaned some away, they seemed to pull back and curl around his legs again. Only this time, they curled in tight enough to draw blood.

Danny winced. "Bad plan. Pick a new plan."

Jack sat back on his heels. "Maybe your mother's project isn't as much of a failure as I thought…"

"Don't care," Danny said through gritted teeth. The pain in his arms was starting to reach the point of unbearable. And now his ankles were burning. "Do me a favor and back up a few feet."

His father gave him a curious look, but stepped back. Danny closed his eyes and reached for the ice curling around inside his chest. The next breath he let out between his teeth frosted in the warm late-spring air. Danny coaxed the cold out of his chest, down his legs, and pushed it out into the plants.

When he opened his eyes, all the plants within a few feet were coated in a thick layer of frost. He carefully moved a leg, hearing the thick vines snap and break. "This'll work," he said as he gently maneuvered himself out of the garden. "Stupid demon plants," he muttered. Surveying the damage, Danny scowled when he saw the welts and deep scratches running around his lower legs. "Great."

Danny yanked off his gloves and started towards the house, staring down at his arms and wondering what the best thing to do in this situation was. He'd never had an allergic reaction to anything before. Bug bite cream, maybe? This father's allergy medicine? It wasn't until he was trying to get the door to the house open without having to move his arms that he turned around to find his father still sitting by the garden, staring at it. "Uh… little help?" Danny called.

Jack turned and blinked at him, then got to his feet. "Let's get you cleaned up before your mother gets home."

Unwilling to wait for his father to arrive and open the door, Danny simply phased through the wood and sulked over to the sink. A flick of his elbow against the handle of the sink got the cold water running and Danny stuck his arms under the flow. "That feels good," Danny breathed, enjoying the cold water that soothed away the worst of the sting.

The door clicked open and closed behind him. Danny could feel his father walk over and loom behind him, studying the little welts. "I'll get the cream," Jack said. "Wash it good to get any remaining chemical off."

Danny had to fight back winces as he gently washed his arms. When his father came back, Jack carefully blotted Danny's arms dry, then started applying a splotch of white cream to each welt. Danny stopped counting at forty. The cream took away most of the stinging, but the strange sensation of his skin crawling around was still there.

"Better?" Jack asked when the last welt was covered.

A noncommittal hum was the best Danny was willing to offer.

"Legs too?"

Danny sighed, looking down at his feet. "Yeah," he muttered. His arms had been worse, but his legs definitely stung. He levered himself up on the counter and tried to keep the flinching to a minimum as his father first washed the bottom parts of his legs and then applied the thick cream. He sat on the counter for a few long minutes after his father was done, staring blankly down at his arms.

"Think we can skip telling Mads about this?" Jack asked, trying to sound hopeful.

Danny gave him a sour look. "Think this will be healed before she gets home?" he asked. Not waiting for an answer to the stupid question, Danny added, "Then she's going to find out."

Jack frowned. "I wonder what you were reacting to."

"I dunno," Danny said, carefully jumping down from the counter. "Does it matter?"

"Yeah," his father said, his forehead furrowed with thought. Then the man brightened. "Don't you worry, I'll figure it out!"

"Great," Danny droned emptily as his father hurried back out the back door. "Because I so very much care." Waiting until the back door clicked shut behind his father, Danny walked into the living room, grabbed his English book, and started to page through to figure out where he'd left off.

At some point, Danny found his spot. He settled in, determined to finish this book before the weekend was over, and ignored all sounds coming from the back yard or the lab. The explosion several pages later made him flinch, but he didn't go looking to find out what had happened. Slowly, the welts on his arms turned to tiny, painful blisters.

It was nearly an hour later when his mother pushed back through the door. Her arms were full of groceries. "Danny? Be a dear and…" She stopped.

Danny looked up at her, trying to look innocent.

"What happened to your _arms_?" She set down the groceries onto the coffee table and grabbed one of Danny's arms, carefully running her fingers over the blisters.

"I was helping Dad weed the garden," Danny said with a shrug, attempting to pull his arm free. It stung when she so much as brushed the blisters. "It's fine."

"Weed…?" Maddie gazed at him, confused, for a long second before understanding dawned on her face. "The prototype plants." She winced. "Sorry, Sweetie. I should have told you about those."

"No biggie," Danny said. "I'll be fine."

His mother hummed and grabbed the groceries. "I'm sure you will be. Any idea where your father is?"

"Based on the explosion ten minutes ago, I'd vote lab." Danny flicked to the next page and didn't look up. "I think he's trying to figure out what I'm reacting to."

"You stay out of the lab until I get it disinfected, then. I don't want you touching something that'll hurt you."

"Yes, Mom," Danny intoned, listening to her walk away.

"And Danny?" Danny blinked and looked up at her. His mother was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "No more weeding the garden."

When she vanished into the kitchen, Danny settled onto the couch, carefully propping his ripped-up legs on the coffee table, and grinned at his boring Shakespeare play. "One more chore I never have to do again? I officially call this day 'productive'."


	6. Controlled Secrets - Jack, Phantom

**Controlled Secrets**  
A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

 _Takes place during an AU version of 'Control Freaks'_.

* * *

Danny was not stupid.

Regardless of his grades since the accident, Danny was smart. Perhaps not inherently academic-smart, but he was life-smart. And, with nearly four months of ghost fighting and being hunted and running for his life, that level of life-smart had grown.

So while his secret was precious and carefully kept close to his chest, he wasn't _stupid_. All secret had limits and boundaries and a line drawn in the sand. If circumstances ever crossed over that line, he would gladly spill his secret on the sand like blood. It was one of the reasons he didn't _really_ fear his parents. Because if push came to shove and his parents were leaning over him with a scalpel, he wouldn't be able to spit out his secret fast enough.

And so it was that Danny was sitting on the stairs, watching his parents pace back and forth in front of their ghost portal, trying to determine how _best_ to have this conversation.

Because, circumstances being what they were, it was time to spill. Last night, the world had toed over the line he'd drawn in the sand. After several hours of angsting (and playing what could be his last game of Doom for awhile – he was expecting massive grounding from this), Danny had gotten the courage to eat breakfast, walk down the stairs, and sit just outside their line of sight.

Divide and conquer. It was more Vlad's way of solving a problem then his – Danny was more the smash and dash variety – but Vlad's plan definitely had its upside. In this case, his parents wouldn't be able to surround. And, if he got one of his parents on his side, it would be easier to finagle the other later.

If he had to pick which parent he was going to spill a secret of this magnitude to, it wasn't much of a choice. Only one of his parents _didn't_ have a black belt in martial arts, _did_ have a propensity for forgiveness, and _could_ be bribed to do almost anything if the right amount of fudge were involved.

It was quite simple: he had to get one of his parents out of the lab. His mother was working on a massive deadline on some big project, so she was out. That left his father.

In between debating the various ways to get his father alone, preferably one that didn't involve a trip to the fudge store, the man opened the ghost portal and stood in front of it, staring into the depths.

As I said – Danny wasn't stupid. He knew an opening when he saw one. Throwing his father into the ghost zone was probably lower on the list of options than absolutely necessary, but it was the convenient one staring him in the face.

Danny was a ghost a heartbeat later, on his feet and bouncing a few times on his toes, then took off across the lab. Sensors and alarms screamed in delight as he flashed by, but his father didn't have time to turn around before Danny snagged the man around the chest and dragged him into the ghost zone.

Although not a black belt in anything, his father had a lot of mass to swing around. The man swore and jerked his body around and got an arm free to bash into Danny's head. Danny avoided the worst of the abuse with some quick use of intangibility, but didn't make it very far before he was forced to drop the man onto one of the floating islands. The man tumbled a good ten feet through the air and landed in a sprawled heap.

"Crap," Danny hissed, zipping down to his father and shaking his shoulder. "Jack?"

The man groaned and rolled onto his back. Feeling the glow of relief that he hadn't hurt his father, Danny started to back up, then hesitated and did a quick search of his father's clothes for weapons. He confiscated three ectoweapons and something he couldn't identify before his father sat up dizzily and swiped at him. "Get away from me."

"Gotta talk to you," Danny said, making sure the weapons were out of sight. He crouched down just out of arms reach. "Are you okay?"

Jack stumbled to his feet. "I'm in the ghost zone," he said, looking around. "Why am I here?"

"I've got to talk to you," Danny repeated. He made sure to follow his father, staying a step outside of 'easily attacked' range.

"Bring me home." The man stopped and turned and glared at him.

Danny scowled and crossed his arms. "I've got to talk to you," Danny said for the third time. "I'll bring you home when I'm done."

Jack stared at him a long, silent moment. Then he turned and kept walking.

The island wasn't very big, and it was populated by nothing more than a few big rocks, one human, and one demi-human. Jack made three full circuits before coming to a stop in front of Danny. Crossing his arms, Jack said, "What, then?"

"You'll actually listen to me?" Danny was a little surprised it had been that easy. He'd expected to be at this for at least an hour before he could convince his father to listen to a word he said without screaming and ranting about ghosts and being forcibly kidnapped.

Jack frowned, his forehead wrinkling. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I…" Danny hesitated. "I kidnapped you and dragged you into a different dimension you have no hope of returning from without my help, not to mention everything that's happened in the past…"

"True," Jack said. He turned and walked away, getting right to the edge of the island and peering around. "Do you know what Project 19 is?" His tone was almost conversational.

If this would have been Vlad, Danny knew he'd be walking into a trap answering a question said in that tone of voice. But this was his father – a man who was not well known to dissemble. Rather than guess and try to play chess like Vlad always did, Danny just went with honesty. "No," he said.

Jack stared at him. His blue eyes were sharp and clear. Jack slowly started to pace around the island, never taking his eyes off Danny. "It's a project that Mads came up with a month ago – based off you, actually. It'll change the world, if she's right."

Danny didn't like projects being based off him. Especially secret, code-numbered projects his mother was working on. "What's it about?"

"It's the idea that there are different breeds of ghosts. That the one kind we've always assumed existed and studied isn't just the only kind there is." Jack took a step forward, his eyes still locked on Danny.

Danny took an equal step backwards. His father could have a single-minded focus on things when he wanted, and Danny found it eerie and completely bizarre to be the subject of that focus. He had to fight down a shiver.

Perhaps he'd picked the wrong parent after all.

"It's the idea that there are some ghosts out there that are more human than others." Jack's eyes flicked around. "That some ghosts have emotions and feelings and real thoughts."

Danny swallowed heavily, momentarily forgetting that he'd brought his father out here to spill his secret – the man being halfway there already was something of a bonus. "And you think I'm one of these ghosts," he said.

Jack waited a long beat before nodding. "Project 19 is to design a continuum: humans at one end, ghost at the other. It sort of requires there to be creatures that fall in between. Humans with more supernatural trails, ghosts with more human ones." Then Jack turned around to scan the sky. "Which way is home, anyways?"

Momentarily startled by the fact that his father just turned his back to him – a dangerous ghost – Danny didn't answer right away. "Over there," he said, pointing in a general _that-a-way_ gesture.

"I don't see it." Jack turned to peer in the direction Danny had pointed.

Danny glanced up, then shrugged. "Ghost zone has more than three dimensions. You really think I have emotions?" He stared at his father, needing that answer more than he wanted to admit.

Jack hummed under his breath, squinting up into the door-filled green. "I'd speculated that there would need to be more than three…" he muttered. "I can't see the portal because it's in some direction I can't see." A grin momentarily flickered across his face. "Awesome."

Danny arched an eyebrow. Tucker had gone on a three-week geek-out when he'd realized the ghost zone had an extra 'direction'. He'd spent weeks trying to find a term for it: up, down, left, right, forwards, back, and then something else. Danny had gotten so sick of hearing about it he'd avoided Tucker for nearly a week before the boy had dropped it. He really didn't have the time to get into it right now with his father. "Listen-"

"Do you have a name for it?" Jack was tilting and craning his head in different way.

Feeling a bit putout that his father was more interested in ghost zone geometry than him, Danny walked up behind him and tapped his shoulder. When Jack turned around, Danny felt a brief moment of anxiety as he realized just how much bigger the human was than him. And how very, very close.

"I didn't bring you here to talk about directions," Danny said. Although it probably was something he could have predicted – faced with Amity Park's enemy number one, his father would get distracted by something trivial.

"Can _you_ see the portal from here?"

Danny sighed. "No. Jack-"

"Then how do you know where it is?" Jack had a frown on his face, his forehead wrinkled in thought.

"Because I know where it is," Danny said, somewhat exasperated. "Just because you can't always see your house doesn't mean you can't find it if you wanted to."

"Could a normal ghost see it?"

"How would I know?" Danny snapped. "Can you knock it off with the directions for a second and just listen to me?"

Jack gazed at him blandly for a second. "So you're not a normal ghost, then?"

Danny's mouth dropped open in startled surprise. "Ummm," he said, taking a small step back. Then he squared his shoulders. He was here to talk to his father about that very fact – he didn't need to not answer. "No," he said, hesitantly. "I'm not a normal ghost."

Jack smiled. "So we were right about Project 19, then. There are ghosts out there that are more human than others."

"Yeah," Danny said.

"What kind are you?" Jack gazed at him for a second, then shook his head. "No, you can answer that later. You wanted to tell me something."

Danny shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Actually," he said as Jack turned away and picked up a rock, "that kind of _is_ what I wanted to talk to you about."

Jack frowned as he hefted the rock a few times, then scratched at it with his fingernail. The man glanced back at him.

"The ghosts call my kind halfas. 'Cause we're half-a-ghost, probably." Danny licked his lips nervously. "And half-a-human."

Setting the rock back down, Jack's eyes narrowed. He walked right up to Danny – who had to hold his breath to keep from backing up – and gazed at him from just inches away. The man scrutinized something in Danny's face before taking a small step backwards.

"Do you believe me?"

Jack didn't answer. He walked back over to the edge of the island and stared at the slowly moving doors. Some of the doors vanished and reappeared. The man took a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh. "I'm not good at this," he said, sounding like he was talking to himself. But the man then looked at him, and continued in the same tone of voice. "Mads would be all over this, but it just makes my head hurt." A tiny smile quirked the corner of his mouth. "You kidnapped the wrong Fenton, kid."

"I don't understand," Danny said after a long pause.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Danny looked away, digging a toe into the dirt. "I'm kinda in a lot of trouble," he said, "and I need your help."

Jack frowned. "What did you do?"

Danny scowled, crossing his arms over his chest with a glare. "Why is it always a question of what I did? Who says I did anything?"

"Fine," Jack said, "what happened, then?"

"I think I robbed a bank," Danny muttered under his breath, trying to ignore the fact that it _was_ a question of what he had done. "Among other places."

A disbelieving arched eyebrow was his response. "You _think_? Robbing a bank is one of those things you tend to remember doing."

"That's why I need help," Danny said. He crossed his arms, then looked away. "I don't… remember a lot… of the last few days." He shrugged uncomfortably.

"What do you remember?"

"Red," Danny whispered. "And black. And this evil laughter." He shivered.

A hand settled onto his shoulder. It was uncomfortably warm against his cold ghost body. It caused little shivers to run down his spine. "Hey-"

Danny shrugged off the hand and stalked away. "Look, I promised that if I ever got in over my head, that I'd ask for help." He spun back around, staring at his father. "I'm in over my head. I'm asking for help."

"Okay," Jack said. "You're some sort of half-a-ghost with memory problems."

Danny winced, but nodded.

"And the best plan you could come up with was to kidnap a ghost hunter."

Put that way, it did sound stupid. "Well…" Danny trailed off. "Yeah, but-"

Jack actually laughed at him. As Danny felt his face redden, the man walked over and threw an arm around Danny's shoulders. "I like you," he said. "You make plans like I do."

With a soft snort, Danny pushed his father's arm away. "Really? You'll help me?"

As Jack grinned and nodded and walked back across the island to peer into the endless abyss, Danny debated telling his father the rest of his secret. The man had gone from 'you're a ghost – _destroy'_ to 'I like you' in less than fifteen minutes. It almost seemed too good to be true.

Watching his father try to catch a little floating glob of light, he decided he'd get through this particular mess, then decide whether or not to explain his family relationship more fully. He walked up slowly, still not sure how his father would react. "Uh, Jack?"

The little glob of light vanished and Jack's face lit up. "That's how you do that!"

Danny hesitated. "Do what?"

"Go invisible! You just… turn in a direction I can't see!" Jack's eyes were bright as he spun around. "Like if I were two-dimensional, and you stood up. You moved in a direction I couldn't follow – so you would disappear to me. That's how you do intangible too, isn't it? That extra dimension? You don't go through the walls, that makes no sense on a physics standpoint – you just go _around them_."

Danny blinked. "I don't know? Jack-"

But his father was on a roll. "It's brilliantly simple! And I bet that extra dimension doesn't have the same gravitational constant as the one's we're used to – which would give you the ability to fly-"

"JACK!" Danny interrupted.

The man blinked at him.

"One thing at a time?" Danny smiled hesitantly. "You help me with this, and I'll talk to you about extra dimensions all you want."

With a nod, Jack said, "I'll need Mads to help."

"You'll have to help me explain it to her," Danny said. "Otherwise she'll turn me into a smear on the wall before I can finish a sentence."

Jack rubbed his chin. "Kidnapping me like that probably wasn't helpful."

Danny winced.

"And she probably won't just _believe_ you like I do. Mads needs evidence to back up claims like yours."

Danny nodded and dug his toe into the ground. "Yeah, I figured."

He floated up into the air, and reached out a hand for Jack's. The man's fingers curled around his wrist and Danny tugged him into the air. Without all the struggling, it took only a few seconds before Danny set Jack down in front of the ghost-side of the portal to their basement.

"Why'd you believe me so easily, anyways?" Danny asked as his feet dropped back to the ground. He shifted uncomfortably as Jack stared at him. "I mean, I'm just a ghost. And you thought I was evil less than an hour ago. And you… just…" He shrugged, not able to explain the feeling.

He'd been planning on having to tell his father all of it, every iota of his secret, to get the man to believe he wasn't an evil ghost bent on world domination. He'd been planning on spending hours in the ghost zone, going over every little thing his father could bring up. There were a lot of misunderstandings between Danny and his parents over the last four months.

Instead, the whole encounter took, like, ten minutes, and his father never once questioned whether or not he was telling the truth. It was almost too good to be true that his father was just _on his side_.

Jack stared at him for a long moment, then vanished through the portal, leaving Danny standing there with his forehead wrinkled in confused thought.

Uncertain if he should follow his father or not, Danny shifted his weight from side to side and debated his options. So caught up in dithering over his choice, he didn't notice the Fenton Fishing Line snake through the portal and wrap around his feet until it was too late. He was jerked off balance and dragged through the portal to dangle upside-down in front of his mother. Her goggles were down, blocking his view of her eyes.

"Hi?" he said, his voice an octave higher than usual.

He caught sight of his father standing in the background, holding onto some Fenton gadget or another.

Maddie took a step closer, until she was practically nose-to-nose with him. Danny's eyes widened. "Jack says you have a story to tell me," she said, "about Project 19."

Danny licked his lips. "Yes," he said. "I… I…"

Jack moved side to side, scanning him with the device in his hands.

Danny watched him for a second. "What is that?" he asked.

"Fenton Ghost Analyzer," Jack muttered.

Danny was certainly going to ask what in the world Jack was analyzing – and how the man was planning on helping him with his memory problem – and he caught sight of the TV. There was something red glittering on the screen.

Red.

Dark laughter filled his head.

And he forgot all about asking his parents for help.


	7. Creepypasta - Tucker, Danny, Sam

**Creepypasta  
** _A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Cordria_

* * *

Tucker stared at the journal in complete horror. Very, very slowly, he closed the small, blue book and set it back on Danny's desk. He backed up a few steps and looked around Danny's room. The room was empty – or, at least, Tucker desperately hoped the room was empty.

Danny had spent a good deal of time over the past few weeks preventing him from reading that little journal. Tucker had come up with all sorts of theories about what might be in the journal, from notes about ghost fights to hidden confessions of his crush on Sam.

He had been horribly, terribly wrong. He shouldn't have been so curious. This was something about his best friend he didn't want to know. He shouldn't have snuck into Danny's room and-

The temperature dropped like a rock falling down a well. Tucker shivered, wrapping his arms around his chest and looking around. "Danny, that's not funny."

A soft cackling – too high and feminine to be Danny's voice – crept through the room. It lingered in the corners, echoing back and forth with faint whispers of pain. The shadows grew darker, leeching away from the edges of the room and stealing the light.

Tucker reached for the small ectoweapon on Danny's desk, holding it protectively in front of him. "Stay away from me," he snapped at the as-yet-unseen ghost. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Yessss… you aaaaare…," came the hissing response. "I can sssssmellll your feeeeear."

"Spectra?" Tucker asked, taking a stab in the dark as to the ghost's identity. His fingers tightened around the ectoweapon. He looked around the room, then edged towards the door. Despite the steel in his voice, his knees felt weak. Without Danny around, Tucker was little more than bait – and he knew it. "Stop hiding and come out."

Green flickered near the window. Tucker spun and pointed the weapon towards the dim light of the sunset. He stared down the barrel of the small gun, forcing his breathing to remain calm.

Another few slow steps backwards had him at the door to Danny's room. He let one hand off the gun to reach behind him for the doorknob. His fingers touched the knob for just a second before he jerked his hand away, hissing in pain. The metal of the door was freezing cold.

There was the sound of claws on glass. Tucker jerked his attention away from his reddening fingers to point the gun back at the window. "I'm tired of this," he said, trying to sound bored and annoyed. He went for bravado, hoping to scare the ghost off without having to fire a single shot. "You have five seconds before I destroy you." His voice shook.

"Unlikely, huuuuuman boy." The voice seemed to come from everywhere, unable to be pinpointed.

Something cold and sharp trailed down Tucker's arm. He couldn't hold back the yelp and the flinch as he swung the gun around. Nothing.

"You are fffffrail and ssssmallllll. I ssssshall devour you. No ghosssssst-boy to sssssave you…"

The gun jerked out of Tucker's fingers as the ghost appeared in front of him. It dissolved into existence slowly, rippling out of the shadows like a hell-bent demon. Medusa-like hair, glowing green eyes, glinting claws.

Tucker'd had more than enough of this. His stomach in his throat and his heartbeat loud in his ear, he shouted and turned around, using his long sleeves to try to get the door open. The doorknob clicked and wiggled – locked. "Let me out!" he yelled.

The ghost's cold, claw-like fingers trailed over his shoulders. "Nosssssey little huuuuuman…"

Tucker spun back around. Logically, fighting a ghost was a pointless endeavor. But with 'flight' out of the picture, 'fight' was the only thing left on the menu. With an almost feral yell, Tucker closed his eyes and threw himself at the ghost.

"Woah!"

Something cold and hard grabbed his wrists, pulling him up short and slamming him back into the door. Tucker struggled, trying to get his hands free, kicking out with his feet.

"Tucker! Knock it off!"

The voice trickled through Tucker's fear, making him hesitate. His eyes cracked open. Green eyes were peering back at him – but these eyes weren't the creepy, ghosty-ones from before. These were calm and almost human. "Danny?"

An eyebrow ticked upwards as an answer.

Tucker, his heart slowing and his knees starting to shake as the adrenaline wore off, peered past Danny's white hair. Sam was standing back there, slowly pulling her hair back into a ponytail and brushing at her clothes. She hesitated when she saw him staring at her, shooting him an evil grin.

"What the Hell?" Tucker whispered.

Danny let his wrists go. As Tucker slumped to the ground, Danny walked over to his desk and picked up the little blue journal. "I told you to not read this," he said, crouching down and wiggling the book in Tucker's face.

Tucker's mouth moved a few times, silently.

"You should listen to me."

Anger curled up in Tucker's chest. "So me sneaking through your room gives you permission to scare me half to death?" he snapped.

"Yup." Danny grinned at him, then stuck a thumb into his own chest. "Ghost. We're territorial little creeps."

Tucker scowled. "You're also human."

Danny shrugged, ignoring the comment in exchange for flipping idly through the book filled with scribbled words.

"I could have killed you. Or Sam!" Tucker got his feet under him, slowly getting up. His knees still felt weak. He pushed too hard on the door with his freezer-burned hand, wincing in pain.

Sam wiggled the weapon. "It's empty," Sam said, showing him the charge.

Tucker rubbed at his fingers, still scowling at them. "You set me up."

"Totally," Danny agreed. "You're too predictable." With a flash of light, the ghost disappeared and the human came back. Danny stood up and stretched. "Worth it?"

"No." Tucker sulked over to the bed and dropped onto it.

With a frown, Danny set the journal down, came over, and grabbed Tucker's hand, examining the reddened fingers. Behind him, Sam reached for the little book. Danny held up a finger, pointing it towards Sam without looking away from Tucker's hand. "Don't."

Sam scowled, but left the book alone. "Some day you're telling me what's in there."

Danny hummed a bland agreement. Green swirled through his eyes as he glanced up at Tucker. "So. Did you like what was in there?"

Tucker shook his head. "You suck," he said. Then he laughed, chuckling. "You're so much better at being creepy than writing it."

Sam arched a curious eyebrow, glancing from Tucker to Danny.

Danny shrugged nonchalantly and dropped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Practice makes perfect," he mumbled.

Tucker snickered. "Not in your case."


	8. Dodgeball - Dash, Danny

**Dodgeball**  
A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Cori

* * *

Dash Baxter knew several things about Fenton. He knew Fenton was smart - smarter than his grades and his schoolwork often implied. He knew Fenton was much geekier than he often let on. And he knew that Fenton always, _always_ knew Dash was coming. He'd never once taken Fenton by surprise.

It had become something of a game for Dash. He started sneaking around corners. He started walking softer. He started _not_ bumping into Fenton every time he walked past the smaller boy, just to try to lull Fenton into a false sense of security. Nothing worked. Fenton was always ready for him. Always saw him coming. Dash was nothing if not highly competitive when it came to games. Skinny, smart, weak little Fenton always 'winning' the game got Dash's hackles to rise.

And then today, he stood there with the dodgeball he'd taken from some little freshie, tossing it up and down and up and down, gazing at Fenton. The boy was out of it - he'd been sick-looking all day - and had his back turned. His bodyguards Manson and Foley were nowhere to be seen. It was just Fenton and him and the dodgeball and his chance to finally, _finally_ , catch Fenton by surprise.

With a grin, Dash cocked his arm back, aimed the ball, and let it fly with all the speed a high school quarterback could muster. It whipped through the air with an almost audible buzz. Fenton didn't even have time to flinch; the ball slammed into the back of his head. Dash pumped a hand in the air, the winner of their little game, a grin on his face.

What Dash wasn't expecting, however, was for Fenton to slump bonelessly to the ground.

Dash's hand dropped. His smile faded. And still Fenton didn't move.

Glancing around, Dash thought about just walking away, just leaving the boy there for someone else to stumble over, getting out of there before he could take the blame. But there wasn't anyone else. He'd found Fenton in a quiet, shadowed corner of the school yard. He wasn't even sure if there were cameras in this section.

So, rather slowly, hoping someone else would come along before he got there, Dash edged up to the comatose form. "Fenton?" he asked when the toe of his shoe was only a few inches from the boy's arm.

There was no response.

"Hey." Dash squatted down and shook the boy's shoulder. "Fenton. Wake up."

Still nothing. Fenton's head lolled slightly. There was a strange, bluish hint to his lips.

Dash was not the kind of kid to panic, but he could feel his heart starting to beat faster and his breath catching in his lungs. He wasn't sure if Fenton was even _breathing_ , but wasn't sure how to check. Thick fingers fumbled at Fenton's neck, he'd seen something like that in the movies, but he couldn't feel anything.

Starting to really worry that he'd just killed Fenton, Dash looked around again. Still nobody. "Hey!" he called, his voice cracking. "Help!" When there was no response at all, Dash took one last look at Fenton's white face, pushed himself to his feet, and ran. "Hey!" he yelled, scrambling around a corner and almost running into the teacher headed his way.

"What's wrong?" Lancer asked, eyes narrowed. "Mr. Baxter, you're not supposed to be over-"

"It's Fenton. I don't think he's breathing." Dash pointed in the direction he'd come. "You gotta help him."

Lancer blinked, then strode past Dash towards the kid lying on the ground. Dash followed, circling like a moth over a flame, listening as Lancer called someone on his radio and knelt over the boy. "Fenton," Lancer said, resting a hand on the boy's chest.

Dash belatedly noticed that Fenton's chest was moving up and down. The relief that he hadn't accidentally killed someone made Dash's knees weak.

"Danny." Lancer grabbed Fenton's wrist and quietly counted for a few seconds, before shaking his head. "What happened?"

Dash glanced at the dodgeball. "He-" His eyes came back to Fenton. "I-"

Lancer frowned sharply. "I'll be looking it up on the cameras, Baxter, so the truth would be a good thing right now."

There was the sound of a door closing. Dash looked up to see the nurse and the police liaison - assigned to the school since the ghost infestation started two years ago - hurrying across the lot. "I threw at a dodgeball at him. I thought he'd move, he always moves," Dash's voice was coming out too fast. "I didn't mean to actually hurt him. I-"

"Where'd he get hit?"

"Back of his head," Dash answered.

The nurse was there, kneeling down as well, asking questions but thankfully Lancer was answering them. Dash stumbled back a few feet, trying to pull himself together, but he couldn't take his eyes off the broken form of Fenton. He hadn't meant for anyone to _really_ get hurt.

He noticed it first. The way the black hair on Fenton's head… was changing. It wasn't black anymore at the roots, but he wasn't really close enough to tell what was happening. "Um…" He thought about saying something, but changed his mind. He'd wait until the nurse had Fenton awake and sitting up.

Because that's what Fenton did - he bounced back from the worst Dash could dish out. He always saw Dash coming. Always. _Always-_ always.

Dash was still waiting when the ambulance showed up. He was still waiting when Fenton was carefully strapped onto a backboard, a neck brace put around his head, and carried over to the vehicle. He was still waiting when the ambulance vanished down the street, although the not-black had grown to nearly an inch before the ambulance doors had slammed shut and cut off Dash's view.

"Mr. Baxter."

Dash blinked up at Lancer, then fought back a wince. Lancer was a football fanatic and was well known for ignoring the team's antics until things went too far - but the man was horribly creative when someone went 'too far' and his punishments generally made up for the lack of them earlier. And Dash had gone too far. _Way_ too far.

"Come along."

It was only then that Dash noticed the crowd of kids that had appeared around them. With a sour twist of his lips, Dash quietly followed Lancer into the school. Just before he walked through the door, he caught sight of a pale-faced Foley and a furious Manson. Both of them were staring in his direction.

Dash couldn't hold back the wince this time. He didn't know much about Fenton's bodyguards, but he knew how protective they were of the boy. He had the distinct feeling that whatever hell Lancer cooked up for him wouldn't hold a candle to Foley and Manson's retaliation.


	9. EM Spectrum - Jack, Danny

_I read a post by Scrollingdown and ended up in a conversation with a friend about assumptions on alien life based on Earthly biology. Basically it boils down to the question: If ectoplasm itself is sensitive to EM radiation, why does it have to be the eyes that see?_

* * *

 **EM Spectrum**  
A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Cori

* * *

Two days after the accident, Danny sat in his room, door closed and locked (he'd tripled-checked). He shivered and shook and closed his eyes, running his hands through his hair, mentally trying to psyche himself up for what he was about to do.

"I don't want to do this," he muttered, grabbing hold of his hair and yanking on it a few times.

He breathed in and out, then reached for that cold spot hanging just inside his chest. It was something like the feeling of swallowing something cold too fast – the tingling, almost painful feeling of cold stuck in his esophagus. His body shuddered and he stopped.

He got up and stalked around his room, then made his way back to his bed. His hands were shaking and nervous sweat was starting to bead on his hands, forehead, and the back of his neck. Crossing his legs, closing his eyes, Danny steadied himself and _jabbed_ at the cold spot with his mind.

It jabbed back. Danny barely held in the gasp of pain as the cold surged out from his core and sliced through his body like a wave. He felt the frigid spike of energy overcome each of his organs, wrapping them in cold, surrounding them, stopping them. No more heartbeat. No more breathing. No more gurgle from his stomach.

And he could _see_. Even with his eyes squished closed, Danny could sense the world around him. He sat perfectly still, letting his too-human mind try to comprehend the 360-degree vision he was suddenly blessed with.

Color was drained from the world. Reds, oranges, and yellows were gone, replaced by shades of greens and blues and purples and brilliant, glowing colors Danny didn't have a name for. Shadows lost their darkness, the light from the late-afternoon sunshine painfully bright against his skin. Nothing had depth or distance – it was just a smear of color and shape. The bird fluttering in the tree outside was a distracting sensation of movement.

Slowly - achingly slowly - Danny moved away from the bed. Eyes still closed, he had to reach out his hands to fumble for his chair, since he couldn't tell how far away it was. It felt like he was a giant eyeball moving through space. The image made him giggle nervously.

It wasn't until his fingers were clasped tightly around the back of the chair that he pried his eyes open. The items in front of him suddenly jumped into their proper three-dimensions, settling themselves into space and distance. "This is fun," Danny muttered, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

He stared at his reflection, studying the alien white hair and the strange glowing eyes, trying to ignore the fact that he could still _see_ the bed behind him and the floor under him and the ceiling above him and the door over there and the window over there with its spotlight-bright glow of sunshine, even though he wasn't looking at them. "Hello again," he told his ghostly counterpart.

His reflection didn't answer.

 _Movement_ behind him caught his attention and he jerked around, eyes scanning for whatever he'd noticed. It took a few seconds for his brain to process the color and shape he'd seen and translate that into a real object. The curtains on his window had been fluttering.

He walked slowly over to the window – surrounded by that _floating eye_ feeling – fighting back a wince when he stepped into the sunshine. He narrowed his eyes and blinked, but he couldn't do that with his entire body. Everything felt too bright.

A few more steps forwards and he reached out and grabbed hold of the window ledge, soaking in the sunshine. Things moved outside and the breeze flowed through the window, catching his attention even after he closed his eyes.

He wished he could breathe. Deep breathing and counting to ten would be a great way to calm to clawing sense of panic in his throat. Instead, he curled his fingers tightly into the sill.

"Hate this," he murmured. He reached for the window to push it open further, but hesitated, staring down at his hand. Glove. Glowing. Vaguely see-through. Shaking his head, forcing himself to stop contemplating how he could be a ghost, Danny pushed open the window. "I'm actually going to do this."

It was a bad plan. Danny _knew_ it was a bad plan, but he was going to follow through with it anyways. He was a ghost, and he wasn't going to explain all of this to his parents until he had some sort of grasp on it himself. And staying in his room, fighting off waves of panic, was not doing him any favors.

He grabbed the small 'in case of emergency only' rope ladder his father had installed several years ago. Although his parents had insisted on it being used only to save his life, Danny had quickly figured out that it gave him a new route out of the house. Like he'd done dozens of times before, he tossed the ladder through the window, Danny levered himself carefully out of his room, and rested his feet on the ladder's top rungs.

Dangling in mid-air with 360 degree vision for the first time was an experience that had Danny clinging to the rope so tightly his hands started to burn. Before he could just not look down; now he had no such option. He knew _exactly_ how far away the ground was – even with his eyes closed.

"Foot," he hissed, forcing one foot to step down a rung. "One more," he muttered, moving his other foot. One by one, he slowly worked his way down to the ground. He'd heard his parents muttering something about ghosts being able to fly, but Danny was nowhere near ready to think about that.

It wasn't until he was safely on the ground that he let go of the ladder and sank to the ground, trembling, still fighting off that dizzying feeling of the world being too bright and too _everywhere_ all at once. Several minutes passed before Danny got to his feet and made his way to the edge of the house.

He hid in the shadows and watched people walk FentonWorks. A few glanced in his direction, no doubt their attention caught by green eyes or his glowing form, but nobody said anything or came closer. The humans had a strange sort of transparency to them – almost as if Danny would be able to see their bones if he squinted hard enough.

Movement behind him. Danny flinched and twisted around, his mind still too used to the human reflex of turning and using his eyes. Peering out from being a garbage can, Danny caught sight of his father, jumpsuit dulled to a bland grey-yellow with splotches of a nameless color in random places. The bit of technology in his hands was unnervingly solid compared to his body. Part of the box-shaped object was glowing brightly.

"Who's out here?" Jack called, fiddling with the box in his hands. "What's your name? Did you come through the Portal?"

Danny rolled his eyes. Of course his father would locate a ghost just to come talk to it.

"Ghost?"

The constant passing of cars and people behind him thoroughly distracting, Danny decided that his first trek out of his room had been a success. He'd been able to handle being out in the world for several minutes without going completely bonkers. He'd have liked to continue – this strange everything-at-once sense of sight was dizzyingly unfamiliar – but Danny didn't want to deal with it _and_ his father at the same time.

He _pushed_ at the cold, trapping it back into the space around his heart. His human body slowly reformed around him, warm and heavy and inviting, and his stomach gurgled to announce that it was still hungry.

Danny bit his lip, momentarily unnerved by the fact that he could only see in front of him before his brain reset back to normal. He stood up and brushed at his clothes, getting rid of a little dirt that had settled there.

"Ghost?" his father called.

"No, just me." Danny stepped out of the alley, walking up to his dad to peer down at the device. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to come up with a way to track ghosts," Jack said. "I thought I had one for a minute… but it's gone…"

Danny blinked at the display, then grinned at his dad. "Maybe next time?"


	10. Not Roughing It - Maddie, Danny

_Because sometimes Vlad has multi-billion dollar corporations to run, and Danny can screw up his life all on his own._

 _Check out Haiju's Roughing It_

* * *

 **Not Roughing It  
** A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Cori

* * *

She watched Danny poke at the campfire with a stick. It had taken him hours to get the thing going, but Maddie had steadfastly refused to help. Now that the sun was setting, the proud little smirk on his face as the fire finally lit up the small clearing made her fight back a smile. "Can we roast hot dogs yet?" she asked, a slight jibe to her voice.

He looked up at her with a scowl. "You could have helped if you were hungry."

Maddie let the smile flicker onto her face as she pulled the hot dogs from the cooler and picked up the roasting sticks she'd whittled while watching him struggle. "You seemed to be doing just fine," she soothed. She handed over one of the sticks. "You're not too city-boy to remember how to roast a hot dog, are you?"

He took the stick with an eye roll and stabbed the meat onto the stick. "I thought this was a birthday trip. You're supposed to be _nice_ to me."

"Was that in the card?" She set her own hot dog over the fire, settling down into a comfortable spot. This little sojourn was supposed to a mother-son bonding trip, a sort of belated birthday present, to watch a meteor shower and get away from the city for awhile.

"Yes," Danny said. "It was implied."

She arched an eyebrow. "You're sixteen. All implied niceness on the part of your parents has been thoroughly used up. You'll need to beg, barter, and steal your random acts of kindness like the rest of the adult world, now."

Danny laughed at that, carefully turning his hot dog inside the licking flames so that it burned evenly. "You _did_ bring stuff to put on the hot dogs, right? Like, other than that relish crap you like?"

"My relish is _delicious_!"

"It attacked me when I was six," Danny said blandly. "I hold a grudge."

"You didn't get attacked by relish-" Maddie started, but then hesitated as she remembered the time he was talking about. Really, it had been a semi-sentient gob of ectoplasm that had gotten free and gone on the attack. The glob had toppled over the picnic table full of condiments, and it had ended getting splattered with relish and mustard. It likely _had_ looked like a sentient ball of relish to a child. "But I can see how you might remember it that way," she finished with a sigh.

He smirked at her.

"Yes, I brought 'other stuff' as well." She gestured towards the cooler. "You'll have to serve yourself."

"Not even nice enough to bring me a bun and ketchup?" he whined, but after poking his blackened hot dog with a finger and deeming it done enough, he got to his feet and headed towards the cooler.

"You don't have to burn food when you cook over a fire," she called after him, keeping her own hot dog well above the flames. It had just started to plump up and glisten.

He plopped back down next to her, hot dog slathered with ketchup, and took a huge bite. It crunched, ketchup oozing down his chin and nearly dripping onto his shirt. "Takes all the flavor out if you don't char it," he said around his mouthful of food. "If I wanted a non-blackened dog, I wouldn't bother building a fire. There's a microwave in the RV."

Maddie shook her head. "Who raised you?"

"Horrible, terrible people with no sense of taste," Danny murmured, throwing her a smile before taking another bite. Then he looked around. "D'you want somethin' to drink?"

"Sure. Pop."

He levered himself to his feet and snagged them a couple cans of pop, stuffing the remaining ketchup-soaked hot dog into his mouth to free his hands. He tossed her one before settling down and cracking open his own. Liquid fizzled and bubbled over his fingers.

She sipped at her drink, watching Danny skewer his second hot dog, and carefully checked her own. It was sizzling and hot to the touch. "Perfect," she murmured, getting herself a bun and topping it with mustard and a generous portion of her homemade relish.

Danny thoroughly burned his second hot dog, doused it in ketchup, and chewed his way through it a bit slower than the first. Settling back against a stump, he put his hands behind his head and stared at the dimming sunset.

"It's nice here," she said, dusting off her fingers as she finished her own supper. She flicked her hands at a few bugs that were starting to come out searching for an evening meal.

He shrugged and let his eyes fall half-closed. He didn't seem to be bothered by the awakening mosquitoes. "Could be worse, I guess."

"Don't fall asleep. We came out here to see meteors."

He quirked an eyebrow. "It'll be hours before they hit their peak. There's plenty of time for a nap between now and then."

Maddie shook her head and dug another hot dog out of the pack. Since they'd had nothing but a rushed gas-station lunch on the way here (and Danny had stolen most of hers), she was quite hungry. One hadn't quite filled her up.

The rustling of plastic and the scent of the hot dogs made Danny sit up and hold out his hand. "Maybe one more for me too."

"I don't get how you don't gain weight with how much you eat," she said, handing over a hot dog with a poke into his ribs. The doctor had proclaimed Danny as underweight at his last check-up – to Maddie's surprise. The boy was an endless pit when it came to food. "It's not like you exercise."

He grinned at her as he stabbed his hot dog onto his stick and then into the fire. "Supernatural metabolism," he said, waving his hand over his body as his hot dog burst into flame.

"No ghost jokes," she reminded him. The 'no ghosts at all' thing had been his requirement. Watching the meteor shower with forty-eight hours of zero ghost-talk.

His snicker made her pause and glance at him, wondering if he was going to say anything more. "Never mind," he said with a wave of his hand, and Maddie let it go with a sigh. He rescued his charred bit of meat and finagled it onto a hot dog bun.

It was somewhere between the rustling of the bag of hot dog buns and the splatter of ketchup that Danny went still.

"What?" Maddie said, twisting around to look at him. He was just standing there, hot dog in one hand and ketchup in the other. Maddie glanced around clearing. The bugs had gone silent – except for the pestering mosquitoes – and the silence was something eerie.

"I thought I heard something," he said. His head twisted abruptly to the left, eyes sharpening as they stared into the sunset-darkened trees. "There."

It was a rustling noise. Not the soft leafy skitters of the squirrels and the birds they'd been listening to for hours. This was a heavy and ponderous rustling. Maddie slipped to her feet. After having stared into the fire for the last fifteen minutes, her eyes struggled to make out anything beyond the darkened tree line.

"It's probably nothing," she said, but her voice was quiet. The hairs on her neck were standing on end. "We're in a park. It's likely just a raccoon."

Danny set down the hot dog and bottle of ketchup and stepped closer to the fire. "It sounds like a _really_ big raccoon," he murmured. "Like… a five hundred pound raccoon."

There was a snuffling sound, then the sound of breaking branches. Maddie surreptitiously reached for the weapons on her belt, only to realize she'd left most of them at home. With the exception of a small knife and a collapsible staff, she was weaponless.

"Let's wait in the RV until this raccoon is gone." He touched her shoulder. She glanced at him, seeing the hairs standing on his arms. Whatever it was that was setting off the alarms in her head, it was doing the same in his.

She was going to nod in agreement and head towards the RV when Danny's eyes went wide. Reacting to the expression, Maddie twisted around to see a bear headed towards them. And not just any sort of bear – a rather large grizzly bear. It was snuffling around the tires of the RV. "Danny-" she started

"Yeah, I see it," he breathed. He took a small step backwards, ending up practically on top of her and between her and the bear. "Let's _not_ wait in the RV."

Snagging his shoulders, Maddie pulled him backwards. Step by slow step they inched their way towards the relative safety of the trees. She figured a bear that size wouldn't be able to climb a tree - if they could get away and up, they could wait out a few hours until the bear left. There wasn't really any other choice. Without weapons, they didn't stand a chance against a 600-pound bear.

They didn't make it very far before something caught the bear's attention. It looked up at them. Maddie tensed her fingers around Danny's shoulders and came to a halt. "Freeze," she whispered. There was still a chance the bear hadn't seen them and they could back away unseen.

But it had. It turned towards them, making heavy _chuff chuff_ noises. Maddie's heart sank.

"Plan B?" Danny said under his breath.

With no other option coming to mind, Maddie clenched her teeth and made a snap decision. "Get to the woods," she said, pushing Danny slightly to the side and stepping around him.

"Mom-"

"Hey bear!" Maddie said, projecting her voice and taking a few quick steps towards the campfire. She snagged a piece of burning branch from the fire and waved it in front of her, trying to see if she could scare the bear into leaving. Hopefully the waving branch would make her seem larger and meaner than a simple human. "Scat!"

The bear stared at her, coming to a stop and just watching her wave the branch.

"Scram! Leave! Get out of here!" Maddie kept up a string of words as she waved the glowing branch, glancing over her shoulder. Danny had backed up a bit more, but appeared to be more worried about watching the bear than leaving. "Danny! Get up a tree!"

She saw his eyes widen and spun back around. The bear was trundling towards her again. It wasn't running or growling or making any sort of predatory movements. It was likely just curious, drawn to the smell of the food and the light of the fire.

She waved the branch and stepped forwards aggressively, stamping her foot on the ground as loudly as she could. "Hey! Back off! This is my fire!" she yelled.

"Mom? Run?"

Shaking her head, Maddie glared down the bear. Running would do nothing but make her something to chase. The bear had come to a stop again and watched the waving, smoldering branch closely. "Go away, bear! Danny? Find us a tree to get up for awhile."

Maddie started to slowly walk backwards, hoping to get to the edge of the clearing and leave the campsite to the bear. But her backing away appeared to be the wrong choice. After only a few feet, the bear chuffed and rose up on its hind legs, snorting and snuffling. Maddie stopped again, waving her branch before her, but it was too late. The bear dropped back on all fours and started to lumber towards her. Its heavy weight made the ground rumble.

She had to fight her own body to keep from turning and running. She knew it would do her no good, and would probably only make the situation worse. "Go away!" she shouted, stabbing forwards aggressively with the branch. The bear still didn't seem overly aggressive - she figured her best chance was to hit it, try to burn its sensitive nose or eyes, and get it to back off.

But before she got the chance, two cold hands snagged her by the armpits and jerked her abruptly into the air. She let out a little shriek at the unexpected movement, dropping the branch and kicking out with her feet. The bear passed underneath her with just inches to spare as Maddie glanced upwards.

Phantom was staring at the bear with wide, green eyes, still pulling them higher and higher into the night air. Despite the fact that he looked like a ghost, he seemed to be panting and out of breath. "Holy shit, that thing is fast," the ghost said. Then he glanced down at her and gave her a sheepish grin. "Sorry to scare you, but that was really, _really_ close."

Torn between staring at the ghost and watching the bear pace around under her feet, Maddie felt yet another puzzle piece about this particular ghost slide into place in her mind. One more bit of information for her current theory. "What are you doing here?" she asked. Then she scanned the edge of the clearing, searching for any sign of her son. She - as she predicted - found none. "And put me down, I need to find my son!"

"Yeah," the ghost said, drawling out the word, "I'm not going to put you down on top of the bear, sorry. How about up a nice tree instead?"

Maddie looked up into the ghost's familiar-looking eyes. "Danny is-"

"Fine, actually," the ghost interrupted, drifting them towards the edge of the clearing. "And would be incredibly ticked if you got eaten trying to find him. Can I find a nice tree for you and call it good?"

"How about you find me the same tree my son is in and then we'll call it good?" Maddie retorted.

The ghost rolled his eyes. "I'll meet you in the middle and put you in a tree, then bring your son to you. Deal?"

"No," Maddie said, although she knew she had little say in the matter. It wasn't as if she could fly on her own, and it wasn't as if she thought her son was actually in a tree. She looked down, watching the edge of the clearing pass by under her feet. Trees rose around her. "What are you doing out here?" she asked again.

Phantom didn't answer - likely because he didn't have any sort of logical reason. He found a tall, sturdy-looking pine tree that mostly overlooked the clearing. After circling it once, he drifted in closer. "How's this one look?"

Maddie grabbed hold of some of the branches and levered herself out of the ghost's grasp. The smaller branches bowed under her weight and she had to keep near the trunk, shuddering at the chill that clung to her arms after being held by the ghost.

"You'll stay here while I go find Danny?"

Holding tightly to the trunk, Maddie turned to stare at the ghost. He was hovering just beyond the reach of the branches, doing his utmost best to appear nonchalant, but she could see all the little nervous ticks that were giving him away. The way his lip was wormed between his teeth. The twitching of his fingers that _really_ wanted to rub the back of his neck. The way he couldn't make eye contact with her.

Tiny, insignificant clues that all pointed in one direction. All she was missing was actual proof - that, and the impossibility of what the clues were pointing towards. There was simply no possible way what she was thinking could be _true_.

Maddie clenched her teeth and nodded. The ghost grinned at her and vanished. She shivered, looking around at the darkening sky, mentally giving herself two minutes before she started to climb down the tree and search for her son, regardless of what her theories were telling her. But she had barely even begun to count when there was a snapping of branches below her.

"Mom?"

Maddie peered down, squinting into the faint evening sunlight, able to make out a human-like shape some twenty feet down. "Up here," she called.

"Yay," she heard him say, sounding a bit annoyed. "Climbing. Just what I wanted to do while on vacation." But based on the creak and groan of branches and the soft curses that drifted her way now and then, Danny was steadily making his way up towards her.

Knowing her son was actually safe did a great deal to ease her mind. Maddie found a place to sit, settling down with an arm wrapped around the trunk, and looked around. From her vantage point, she could see the campfire and the bear, huffing and digging through their cooler. Phantom was, now that Danny was back, nowhere to be seen.

Danny reached her with a groan. "I've got pine sap stuck in my hair," he grumbled. "And my hands stick to everything I touch." As if to demonstrate, he held out a hand and touched her leg. The material clung to his hand and released stickily. "This sucks."

"Sorry, sweetie," she said.

He made a noise in his throat and found a branch to sit on that was just slightly higher than hers and on the opposite side of the tree. Unlike Maddie, he didn't wrap an arm around the trunk of the tree to hold himself in place, he just rested a hand against the bark and peered into the campsite - no apparent care for the fact that he was a good fifty feet off the ground. "Could be worse, I guess. At least it's not raining."

With a smile, she said, "Point," and then allowed them to fall into a comfortable silence. A squirrel in a nearby tree chittered and grumbled at their presence. Something flitted past them - perhaps a bird or a bat, Maddie couldn't be sure.

In the quiet evening, Maddie rested her head against the side of the tree. She couldn't really see her son's face from this angle, but she could see his slowly swinging feet. The back and forth motion was almost hypnotic. Caught with little else to do, her mind wandered back to the mystery that as Phantom, and the question of whether or not she should say anything to her son about her slowly growing pile of evidence about his connection to the specter.

"You're supposed to be able to see Mercury right around dusk for awhile," he said, breaking the silence. He pointed an arm towards the setting sun. "I know it's not what we came out here to see, but I think that might be it. Or it's something else."

Maddie smiled and stared at the far-off point of light. "You'd know better than I would."

"I guess it's an advantage of being caught up in a tree. You can see more," Danny mumbled. "Never would have seen that from the clearing." Then he laughed. "And Sam says I'm not an optimist. I'm finding the good part about being chased up a tree by a bear."

"And you get to spend more quality time with me."

Danny leaned forwards precariously, somehow balanced and not falling, and grinned at her. "I was going to spend it with you anyways. It's not like there's anyone else out here."

"And you got to get some exercise climbing a tree," she added.

"That's not a good part!" Danny looked scandalized by the suggestion. "Look at me. I'm covered in tree sap, and scarred for life because of a _bear_ , and I ripped one of my favorite shirts." He picked at his shirt that - yes indeed - had a small rip near the bottom edge. "Besides. Exercise is overrated."

"Uh-huh," Maddie said. "That's why I'm sure it's not you that borrows my martial arts equipment now and then without asking."

There was a moment of silence, then a sigh. "Jazz started it," Danny grumbled. "She wanted to learn how to hit things."

Maddie arched a curious eyebrow, surprised that her daughter hadn't come to her if she wanted some self-defense classes. "Did she figure it out?"

"She got really good at hitting _me_ ," Danny muttered darkly. "That's when I quit holding the targets for her. I think Sam helps Jazz when they want to practice; she's got nerves of steel." He glanced at her. "I didn't think you'd notice. Sorry."

"I'm not blind, kiddo," she said. "It just would have been nice if you would have asked. I could have helped."

Danny shrugged. "I didn't really need help. And you guys are always busy."

Maddie felt the slight sting in that. Nobody would ever be able to say that Maddie and Jack hadn't raised independent children. Both were fully capable of fending for themselves. But now that her children were almost grown, Maddie kept wondering what she might have missed in their lives. "I know you didn't need help," she said quietly. "I just sometimes like the excuse to spend some time with you."

"Even if it doesn't involve ghosts?" Danny said with a smile, a slight taunt to his voice.

"What is it with you and this recent obsession with ghosts?" Maddie asked back. "Or the lack thereof, in this case?"

"I have a bet with Jazz that you have the ability hold a conversation that's not about ghosts." Danny looked a bit sheepish at that confession. "She thinks your brains will melt into goo if ghosts aren't mentioned every few hours."

Maddie grinned. "How often do the two of you bet on us?"

Danny's muttered, "Do you _really_ want me to answer that?" made her snicker. He sighed and tapped his feet together. "And I guess I sometimes get sick of listening to you guys jabber on about ghosts all the time."

"What would you rather me talk about?" she asked, turning her voice teasing. "Your not-crush on a certain black-haired girl?"

A flush on his face, Danny scowled and kicked his feet a little faster. "I get enough of that from Tucker and Jazz, thanks very much."

"I know," she said. "Your father and I aren't that bad, are we?"

He glanced around the tree at her, giving her the look that question probably deserved. "I bet you there are ghosts out there less obsessive than the two of you."

Maddie snorted, then sighed. "We do get caught up in it a lot," she murmured in agreement. "And you should probably stop making bets. Someday that's going to come back to haunt you."

"I don't make bets I'd _lose_ ," Danny replied sourly.

"Everyone makes good bets and bad bets," Maddie said. "Betting that ghosts are less obsessive than Jack and I sounds like a bad bet."

"Yeah," Danny murmured, looking away from her, "not really."

Maddie opened her mouth to respond to that, but then stopped the words before they would come out of her mouth. The point wasn't whether or not Danny was correct - and he obviously wasn't - the point was that he thought he was correct. She and Jack had become that single-minded over the past few years. "I'll try to be better about it, alright?"

He glanced her way. A smile lurked at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, alright." Then he sighed. "How much longer do you think we need to stay up here? The bear's gone." He pointed unnecessarily at the campsite.

"A while longer," Maddie said. "I'd rather not climb all the way down just to have to climb back up."

"I guess that's fair," Danny said, kicking his feet back and forth and picking at the bark on the branch. "What do you want to talk about, then?" He gave her a challenging look, as if daring her to find a topic she could discuss that didn't have anything to do with ghosts.

Maddie wrinkled her nose. Really, she'd planned this trip to get some mother-son bonding time with her son. The boy was rapidly pulling away from her. Growing up. Leaving her behind. She _wanted_ a relationship with him, even after he moved away in a few years. This trip had been her planned as her opportunity to bridge the gaps that had been growing in between them. And there was one huge gap that Maddie really did want to mention.

"Mom?"

The thoughts running through her head must have shown on her face. She looked at his concerned expression and smiled. "Jack and I raised you and your sister to be so independent. Sometimes I just wonder if we went too far," she said. "You two definitely like your secrets."

"I don't keep secrets-" Danny started, but broke off when she arched an eyebrow. "Okay, yeah, but _everyone_ does. You don't want to know every little aspect of my life."

"I'm not worried about the _little_ aspects of your life," Maddie murmured.

"I'm fine, Mom."

There was the typical Danny answer to every question she had about his life. A quick brush-off to every problem he had. "It'd be easier to have a conversation about things if you didn't stop every one of them with 'I'm fine'," Maddie suggested quietly.

He looked at her. Quicksilver emotions darted behind his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Maddie shrugged. "I don't know, sweetie. All I know is that bottling everything inside really isn't helpful."

"I don't bottle things up. I talk to Jazz and Sam and Tucker a lot." His feet swung back and forth with quick little movements, betraying his turbulent thoughts. "I just don't talk to you about it."

"Why not?"

He was quiet, watching the darkening sky. "You're busy with your stuff. And I can deal with it."

Maddie reached out and snagged his leg, stopping its movements. "I'm not saying you can't deal with it," she said gently. "I'm saying that you can come talk to me - and I promise I won't make _every_ conversation about ghosts."

"Yeah, yeah," he said with a roll of his eyes, but there was a small smile lingering at the corner of his mouth when he pulled his leg out of her grasp.

Maddie studied him for a moment, then decided to simply roll with her thoughts. It was unlikely she'd get another chance anytime soon where he was trapped in one spot with her. "Speaking of, though," she said slowly.

Danny groaned and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the tree.

"One thing, and I'll let it drop," she said. She waited until he looked at her. "You do know you're not incredibly _good_ at keeping secrets."

He looked utterly confused. "What does that have to do with ghosts?" he asked, but she saw the comprehension dawn in his eyes even before he finished his own question and the flush spread over his cheeks. It was the last nail in the coffin for her rather ludicrous theory about Danny and Phantom being connected.

Maddie shrugged. "Just that you can come talk to me, if you wanted."

"Yeah, I guess," he muttered. He kicked his feet against the truck of the tree, looking sullen. "How long have you known for?"

"I thought you didn't want to talk about ghosts?" she teased. "We can certainly talk about something else. School, or girlfriends, or-"

"Mom!" Danny cut her off with a frown. "Seriously. How long have you known for?"

She shrugged, not willing to admit she hadn't known for sure until just moments ago. And she still wasn't entirely sure _how_ they were connected, just that they were. "A while," she hedged. "If you wanted to keep it more of a secret, you should try to look a bit concerned about being fifty feet up a tree and not falling. And perhaps not have a ghost show up in the middle of nowhere and then mysteriously vanish again."

He frowned. "You were gonna get eaten by a bear," he muttered, picking at the tree bark.

"Probably not," she said. "It was more curious than anything."

"It didn't look curious," he argued. "So I climbed up this big-ass tree and got covered in tree sap for no reason."

Maddie let out a little chuckle. "Yeah, I suppose."

"Great," he sighed.

"At least you don't have to climb back down?" she offered, leaning a bit around the tree so she could see his face.

He stuck his tongue out at her, betraying how young he still was. Even though he acted the adult most of the time, he was still her little Danny. "True," he said. "But there's no showers out here and I'm going to stick to _everything_." There was a shuffling as he got his feet under him, then he climbed nimbly around the tree branches to sit next to her, balanced almost supernaturally on the branch with nothing to hold on to. It took most of Maddie's willpower to not grab him to keep him from falling. "And I can share the love," he said, squirming close enough to her that she could smell the strong scent of the pine sap stick to him.

"Yeah, no," Maddie said, shuffling a few inches away from him. "We only need one sticky person in this family."

He snorted and just sat there, letting his feet kick slowly beneath him. "Does Dad know?"

"I don't know," she said. She let her gaze drift over the horizon. Only the smallest bit of the sun was left staining the sky with oranges and deep purples. It wouldn't be more than a half-hour and night would set in. Already the sky was starting to be dotted with stars. "I don't think so."

"And you're… okay with it?"

She turned to look at him. He looked nervous, chewing on his lip, his gaze dancing anywhere but to meet hers. " _Okay_ is perhaps a strong word," she admitted. She didn't miss the tiny flinch that went through his body. "But I'm figuring it out, and I trust you." A small smile quirked at the corner of her mouth and she looked back up at the sky. A tiny streak raced across the darkening heavens. "Oh, look," she said, pointing upwards.

Danny looked up just in time to see a second meteor dart overhead. "It's not even dark yet," he said. "There's supposed to be hundreds an hour when this hits its peak."

"Should we get down?" Maddie asked.

"You really do get a better view up here," Danny said, then he glanced at her and grinned. "But we can get down if you want to."

Maddie shook her head, leaning her body against the tree and watching the last of the sunset. "I'm good. Heights never really bothered me."

"Just think about it," Danny said quietly after a few seconds of silence. "Those streaks of light are made from pieces of a comet that's probably existed since the beginning of the solar system. Four and a half _billion_ years that little speck has been floating out in space, moving at mind-bendingly fast speeds… only to vanish in a flash of light. It's crazy that we get to see that."

Another meteor dashed across the sky. "Ghosts are still cooler," she commented.

That pulled a short laugh out of him. "Agree to disagree," he said.

"Yeah," she said, and decided to ignore the sap covering her son's shirt long enough to wrap an arm around his shoulders and draw him in close.

* * *

Uploaded December 7, 2015  
Thanks for reading. :)


	11. Abortion - Sam, Danny

_Warnings for mentions of adult sexual situations._

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Abortion

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Cori

* * *

When he was seventeen, Danny found out from his parents that he was infertile. It would be impossible for him to ever have children. Which, his parents had said in private to Sam later, was probably a blessing. There was no telling what sort of problems a child with ectoplasm-infused DNA would have.

Danny hadn't taken the news well. He was just the sort of sappy male who had always wanted children of his own. Mentioning any sort of alternative options had resulted in nothing but anger and sadness.

When Sam finally agreed to accept an engagement ring from Danny when they were twenty-one, it was with the knowledge they would never have biological children of their own. She was fine with that – adoption was very much something she could get behind.

Due to these facts, Sam had never bothered with any sort of birth control. The artificial hormones weren't healthy, Danny couldn't get her pregnant, and besides, she was faithful to Danny.

Until that one night when she wasn't.

Danny had been away, and she'd gotten terribly drunk at a poetry reading. Of all the possible people, she'd ended up sleeping with Jeremy Kimler, the most masochistic, sexist pig in town. Sam had woken up outraged and with the cry of rape on her lips – she'd been far, far, far too drunk to consent – but after a long shower, a half-bottle of mouthwash, and perusing the video on her phone…

She had stared – disgusted and strangely entranced – at the debauchery going on before her camera. She couldn't imagine what had been going through her mind that night. Yes, Jeremy Kimler bore some resemblance to Danny Fenton. Black hair. Blue eyes. Taller, though, skinnier… definitely less well developed in the downstairs area.

After not too many seconds, she'd realized that Jeremy Kimler had probably been more drunk than her. He wasn't any more to blame for what had happened than she was.

She'd deleted the video, sent a few messages detailing the torment that would happen if news of the previous night slipped Jeremy Kimler's lips – although she quickly realized he didn't remember any of it – and set herself to forget it ever happened. She didn't remember the exact events very well, but what she did remember had been sloppy, too quick, and completely forgettable. Jeremy Kimler was many things, but 'good in bed' was not one of them.

Nothing good would come of telling Danny about it, and it was just a forgotten few minutes of drunk groping in the dark. Sam succeeded in pretending to forget about it for nearly a month.

Until one morning, some four weeks after that night, when she sat on the toilet, rocking slowly back and forth, holding a little stick in her hand that she had never, ever thought she'd have to use and praying to any god that would listen that the result be negative. It had been just a few minutes. And with Jeremy Kimler of all people.

She loved Danny. She loved Danny. She loved…

The words on the screen were like a punch to her gut: pregnant.

She sank to the ground, holding the stick to her chest, feeling tears run down her cheeks, and tried to figure out what to do next. There was no way Danny could know about this. He couldn't know about Jeremy Kimler. He couldn't know Sam was pregnant. He couldn't-

Her thoughts came to an abrupt end when the door to the bathroom creaked open. Sam flinched and jerked the pregnancy test behind her. "I'm busy," she croaked before the door was completely open.

"You okay?" Danny poked his head around the door, spotting her on the ground. His face creased with concern; obviously he could tell she'd been crying.

"Yes. Go away," Sam whispered. "Please."

Danny hesitated a second, then nodded and said, "Yeah." But just before he left, his eyes scanned the bathroom and landed on the counter. He stopped.

Sam followed his gaze, feeling her stomach drop when she saw the box the pregnancy test had come in sitting on the counter. "Danny…"

He didn't look at her. His face was blank. Sam felt all the worries about her fiancé finding out about that stupid, drunken night well up inside her chest. Did he know? Was he putting together this pregnancy test with a mistake a month ago? Or did he not know yet? Sam swallowed heavily, not moving from her spot.

Very slowly, Danny walked the rest of the way into the bathroom. He stepped up to the bathroom counter and picked up the box, turning it over and over in his hands. And still he didn't look at her. "What'd it say?" he asked.

"Danny…"

"Sam," he replied, his voice dead calm as he finally turned his blue eyes on her. His gaze flittered across her face, at the tense way she was holding herself, and the defiant thrust of her chin. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"

Her head moving jerkily, Sam nodded. Then, unable to take the weight of his stare, she looked away.

She heard him move, felt him settle down next to her and pull her arms out from behind her back. He took the pregnancy test and set it aside, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Now what?" he asked.

She'd cheated on him – would he call of the engagement? Would he ask her to get an abortion? Would he ask her to move out? Be mad at her? Never speak to her again? Call her parents and… "What do you mean?" Sam asked, her voice cracking. Even as she leaned against his warmth, she couldn't look up at him.

"You heard what my mom said," Danny said, making Sam blink and her rambling thoughts hesitate – Mrs. Fenton didn't factor into a mistake with Jeremy Kimler at all. "If… something happened and… you know… there's no telling what sort of problems the child would have. Because of me. And it'd be too dangerous for you to… you know…"

Sam stared at the water stain in the paint, her heart twisting as she realized what Danny assumed was going on. He thought he was the father. That under some strange, twisted circumstance, he'd managed to get her pregnant.

"I don't want you to get hurt," Danny continued. "As much as I've always wanted kids, I don't… You're so much more important, Sam. And…"

It broke her heart, listening to Danny stumble over his words over how much he loved her and she'd been unfaithful and now she was pregnant with a child that didn't belong to him, and he didn't know. "Danny," she breathed.

"I know how you feel about… about abortions," Danny's voice hesitated over the word, "but in this case… we talked about…"

She thought about it, just going to the doctor and getting some pills, or whatever they did at this early of a point in a pregnancy. But abortion was wrong. It was so very, very wrong. It was the killing of a life… She couldn't help but reflexively wrap her arms around her stomach.

Were this Danny's child – doomed to a short life of pain and horrible risks to Sam's life for carrying it – Sam wouldn't have hesitated or questioned it. They'd already talked about it. She'd agreed to it. She wasn't going to torment an infant child like that.

But this wasn't Danny's child. The DNA to create this being inside of her belonged to Jeremy Kimler. And, while Jeremy Kilmer was a wretched, vile human being in every definition of the term… he was a healthy human male. The DNA he'd given was undoubtedly healthy as well. Making the child growing inside of her healthy and viable.

"I can't," she whispered, choking on the words. She pulled slightly away from him, not wanting to feel the slow movement of his body next to hers. Not right now. Not when she'd so horribly broken his trust, and then lied to him, and now couldn't decide if she should tell him the truth or not about the father of the baby growing inside her.

It would break him. It would tear him apart. Their relationship wouldn't last. Their perfect, storybook ending wouldn't ever be.

"We talked about this," Danny said. "Sam, you can't take the risk-"

"My choice," Sam said. She still couldn't look at him, although she could feel him staring at her. "My body, my choice."

Danny was quiet, then sighed. She could feel his breath on her neck. "It won't be healthy, Sam. It'll be in pain, if it lives that long, and there's no telling-"

"My body, my choice," Sam repeated, closing her eyes and leaning forwards. She pressed her forehead into her knees. "I can't…"

She wasn't sure what she meant by that. She couldn't do a lot of things. She couldn't tell him. She couldn't have the abortion. She couldn't carry a child to term that wasn't Danny's. She couldn't lie to Danny and raise a child together that wasn't theirs. She couldn't…

She couldn't…

"I can't," she whispered again, tears soaking into her pajama pants. Her body was shaking.

Danny didn't say anything. He just sat there and patted her back and listened to her cry. It was only because of the occasional sniffling cough that Sam realized Danny was crying too.

Every day thereafter, Sam woke up desperate for a miscarriage. She would carefully check her underwear for any sign of blood. There never was any. Every day Danny would stare at her. He mentioned the doctor several times. He even went to some sort of abortion clinic and came home with all sorts of pamphlets guaranteeing that the zygote growing inside of her wasn't advanced enough to feel pain yet, to know that it was alive. He kept telling her that he loved her… and that he didn't want her to do this. It was too dangerous.

And Sam kept not telling him that it wasn't any more dangerous than any other pregnancy, because the child inside of her wasn't Danny's. Every time she steeled herself to come clean, and walked up to him, she'd lose her words.

She loved him too much to lose him. She loved him too much to break his heart like this.

She scooped up some of the brochures sitting on the bedside table and stared at them. She loved Danny much more than she loved Jeremy Kimler. She loved Danny much more than she loved this problem slowly growing inside of her. It would be so easy. Just go get it taken out. She wouldn't even have to admit to Danny she'd gone – she could just say she'd miscarried. It'd be completely plausible to him, given that he thought the child's DNA was flawed.

But she never went. She kept putting it off. She couldn't condone something she saw as murder… even for Danny.

And she couldn't say anything. She kept hoping it would all just fall apart. That this wouldn't end up happening to her. That something would just happen and she wouldn't have to deal with this any longer.

It was nearly ten weeks after that fateful night with Jeremy Kimler that Danny finally dragged Sam to the doctor. Not to get an abortion, but to get a pregnancy checkup.

"If you're going to carry this thing, we need to make sure it's healthy," Danny said as he pulled her into the doctor's office and made her sit in a chair. "Run lots of tests," Danny told the doctor. "There are lots of abnormalities that run in my family and I want to know what my child has."

Sam grabbed onto that thought. It could be her way out. Perhaps the child was mutated in some way. Surely any spawn of the disgusting pile of flesh that was Jeremy Kimler would have some sort of massive defect that would clear her conscience enough for that abortion.

They couldn't run very many tests, not at ten weeks. A few genetic tests. But most would have to wait. Fifteen weeks, twenty for some of them. Some would have to come even later than that. Sam made sure they ran them all.

Nothing. Negative. Every test came back with the same result: the baby growing inside of her was perfectly healthy.

She made it to twenty-four weeks, the legal cut-off for abortion in her state, and she still hadn't told Danny. The baby was still healthy. Sam had run out of logical reasons to believe that the baby would just disappear and she wouldn't have to tell Danny about Jeremy Kimler. And she couldn't hide the fact that she was pregnant from their families any longer.

The phone was cold in her hand when she dialed her parents' number, listened to it ring, and nearly cried when her grandmother picked it up instead of her parents. It took more than fifteen minutes of random conversation before the words finally blurted out of her mouth: "I'm pregnant."

Of course, Sam's family knew nothing behind the reasons why Danny couldn't have children. Sam had simply said years ago – ignoring her parents' looks of disapproval – that they'd eventually choose to adopt and wouldn't be having children of their own. Once they got over the horror of six months of secrets and their first (and possibly only) grandchild being born out of wedlock, the Manson family were beside themselves with glee.

Sam knew the reaction of the Fenton clan would be very different, and she could only dial them up with Danny's steady presence next to her. Mr. and Mrs. Fenton knew very well the reasons why Sam carrying a child of Danny's to term was a horrible idea.

Their response to the news had been silence. Then a lot of questions that mostly centered around why Sam was choosing to keep it. Danny had tried to explain, but his parents hadn't been very understanding.

Mrs. Fenton eventually had stated – unequivocally – that Danny would never have a healthy, biological child. The woman had been quiet for so very, very long after that comment, then had simply wished them good luck on the impending few months and had hung up the phone. Listening to the dial tone, there was no doubt in Sam's mind that Mrs. Fenton, if nobody else, knew that the child wasn't Danny's.

Sam ran her fingers over her growing stomach as Danny set the phone back in its holder. "My parents don't understand luck and faith," Danny said, shaking his head and dropping onto the couch next to her. He grabbed her fingers and splayed them over her stomach. "And you know they don't do so well with being wrong. You'll have to ignore them."

"Your parents aren't wrong very often," Sam said. She stared at him, her heart breaking at the look of pure glee on his face as he rubbed her stomach.

Danny snorted and waved the comment away. "They're wrong all the time." He grinned at her, green glittering in the back of his eyes. "Mom and Dad'll come around when they've got a grandkid to hold."

"Yeah," Sam whispered.

"It's just, you know, lucky. Like, lucky that it happened at all. And lucky that you didn't listen to me about getting rid of it. Lucky that it's healthy. Lucky that…" Danny trailed off. "Sam, you okay?"

She wondered what she looked like, debating destroying the man next to her by finally explaining that the child wasn't his. She wondered if he'd accept it, sweep her up in a hug and tell her it was okay and she was worried over nothing. Or she wondered if he'd stiffen, sit there in silence, and then vanish for awhile to think things over, and their relationship would slowly, steadily fall apart. Or she wondered if he'd say it was okay, sweep her up in a hug, and then drift away as the child grew inside of her, not nearly as okay as he said he was.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm fine." She looked away.

"Really, Sam. Don't worry about my crazy parents." He touched her arm. "They're wrong all the time. It'll be fine, you heard the doctor. There's nothing wrong with either you or the baby."

"I know," she said.

"And we get to be parents. I know we were planning on waiting until after we're married and graduate from college, but-"

"Danny?" she interrupted, abruptly turning to stare at him.

"Yeah?" He waited, cocking an eyebrow, but seemed to give up after a while and went back to babbling. "We can get a new apartment, one with two bedrooms. And I can paint the baby's room, you know, and maybe Dad can help me build some furniture or something. Or maybe your parents would get us something. And I was thinking…" He stopped speaking, leaning forwards until his nose was inches from hers.

Eventually she couldn't take the silence any more. "What?" she whispered.

"I like James. Or Janetta."

It took Sam a long moment to understand the context of the words. "You mean, like, names?" Her stomach roiled at how the grin made the corners of his eyes wrinkle. How he could be so very, very pleased with something that Sam knew was so very, very wrong.

"I was looking for an apartment," Danny said, pulling back, face looking a little flushed. "I saw this one a few blocks over. It's got two bedrooms – a little more than we can afford, but they said we could go look at it tomorrow."

Sam took in a deep breath, held it a second, and then let it out with a burst of air. "Yeah," she said, feeling horrible for, yet again, not being able to tell Danny about Jeremy Kilmer.

Danny grinned, jumped off the couch, and headed towards the kitchen. "I'm going to make some supper. You hungry? Of course you're hungry. What are you hungry for?" He stopped and spun to face her, his face lighting up. "What's the baby hungry for?"

"I don't know," Sam said, unable to muster up even the faintest hint of excitement. Danny had been waiting very, very impatiently for nearly a month trying to keep this pregnancy a secret. He was so excited over finally being able to tell everyone.

The smile faded from his face. "It's okay, Sam." He looked serious for a long second as he stared at her. "I understand."

She gazed at him.

"It really is okay," he said, his voice very gentle and soft. "I understand."

"No you don't," Sam whispered.

The smile crept back onto his face. "Yeah," he said, his voice softer than even hers had been, "I do." Then he vanished into the kitchen. "I'm going to make chicken and mashed potatoes and you're going to eat some. I'm not letting little James or Janetta Fenton eat nothing but tofu for the next several months."

"My body," Sam breathed, "my choice. I don't have to eat chicken just because…" She couldn't finish it. Tears were curling down her cheeks.

She didn't know if Danny really understood how this child had come to be. She didn't know if Danny even meant that he knew the child wasn't biologically his with those cryptic words.

All she knew was that Danny understood. And it was okay. Sam reached for that with the same grasp a drowning woman would hold on to a life raft. She pushed and prodded it around in her head until she came to the conclusion that Danny was telling her he knew about her night of indiscretion and he didn't want to know more than that. Sam kept that thought in her head and made peace with it.

She eventually wrenched herself off the couch, walked into the kitchen, and ate some chicken. Because it was her body, her choice, and she was choosing Danny's happiness.

Danny never brought anything up. He never asked who the father really was. Sam never said. Mrs. Fenton stared at her long and hard the first time they'd come over to help Danny build some baby furniture, but that had been the end of that.

The baby came three weeks early. A healthy baby boy, with black hair and blue eyes, and at full term weight. Sam gathered him into her arms after they'd cleaned him up and checked him out, exhausted and feeling slightly high from the emotions of her (almost) drug-free birth. "Little James Henry Fenton," she whispered.

"I thought he'd be smaller," Danny breathed, stroking a finger down the side of the baby's cheek. "You know, since he's almost a month early."

The nurse, still bustling around the room, had an answer to that. "Due dates aren't always horribly accurate. They're generally based on your last period, and a guess as to when you conceived." She smiled down at the baby. "You likely conceived several weeks earlier than you thought you had."

Sam stiffened slightly, but couldn't gather enough energy to hold it for long. She stared down at her child, feeling the tiniest of fatigued smiles on her lips. She knew that wasn't true. It was a sad, stupid one-night stand that had resulted in little James Fenton. There was no doubting the conception date.

"And did you see that?" the nurse said. "He's even got his father's cowlick. Such a cute baby. And so very quiet, so far."

"Of course he does," Danny said, reaching out to take the child from her. Sam resisted a second, not wanting to give up her precious bundle, but eventually caved in at the look in Danny's eyes. "Wouldn't be a Fenton without messy hair." He carefully held James, cooing down at him. "You got the Fenton nose too, buddy. Sorry about that."

Sam laid back against her pillows, knowing that couldn't possibly be true. The kid had Jeremy Kilmer's hair. And probably just a Manson-sized nose.

"And you know what my dad got for you?"

"Oh, Danny, don't," Sam said. "Not yet. Besides, it's supposed to go on the mobile on his crib when we get home."

"Mom said it was perfectly safe!" Danny grinned at her, pulling out the stuffed animal from his pocket. It was a strange globby thing that vaguely resembled Skulker when not in his armor. He shook it right in front of James's face. The tiny toy lit up with all sorts of glowing, ghostly lights. "Oh, Sam, look at this."

She looked over to see tiny James entranced by the light just inches away from his nose. The baby made a strange burbling noise, grinning.

Danny laughed. "You're such a Fenton, kiddo. Not even a day old and you're already staring at ghosts."

"Oh," came a soft voice from the doorway. Sam glanced over to see Mrs. Fenton standing there, looking like she was about to cry. "Sorry if I'm bothering you. I know you need your rest, I just saw the door open…"

"It's okay," Sam said tiredly, "for a minute."

James made the burbling noise again, catching everyone's attention. The hand that had worked itself free of the tight wrappings while Sam and Danny had passed him around grabbed for the toy. Danny let go of the toy, allowing the child to move his hand up and down. The small toy lit up again at the jostling – but now outside of James's field of vision, was quickly forgotten and dropped.

Mrs. Fenton was very quiet as she walked over and picked up the glittering toy, then stared down at her grandchild. She smiled.

"Sam needs her rest," Danny cut in after a second. "And James needs his too."

"Yes," Mrs. Fenton said, setting the toy down next to Sam, where it went dark and still. "Yes. We'll be back later." She hesitated a second longer, then patted Sam's hand. "I…" She stopped, then started again. "I'm sometimes wrong, and this I'm very glad that I was. I'm… sorry, dear."

Sam didn't have the energy to tell the woman that she'd been very much right about everything. That Sam had just had the luck to end up spending a drunken night with someone that mostly resembled her soon-to-be-husband. She just nodded and watched the woman leave. James was placed back in the bassinet and was wheeled away by the kind nurse. Danny leaned over and placed a kiss on her forehead. "You did good," he whispered.

Sam hummed a response, barely awake. Her arm brushed the strange little toy and Sam picked it up, giving it a dazed shake. It didn't light up.

"Here," Danny said, taking it from her hands. The second he jostled it, the toy glittered and glowed. "I'll take it." He set it on the bedside table, where it instantly went dark again. "I'll talk to Dad and see if he'll take the genetic lock off the power switch. I know he's proud of that damned invention, but it doesn't need to be in toys."

Sam hummed again, her eyes closing, not processing what Danny had said. "Love you," came the voice whispered in her ear.

Sam thought she might have answered.


	12. Core - Danny

_Warning: lots._

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Core

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cori

* * *

Danny's arms felt like hundred pound weights. He shifted, exhausted, barely able to crack open his eyes. Eventually working up some energy, he wiggled his arm just enough to hear the rattle of chains.

His head lolled to the side, blearily staring at the arm that was stretched next to him. There was a cuff around his wrist and some sort of silver metal table under him. Cold metal, now that the thought had processed through his dazed mind. With no shirt on, the chill was eating into his shoulders and back.

"No! Not again!" came a shout.

Delirious, Danny's gazed at the strange room he'd woken up in. There was something moving in the shadows. A smear of red and a swirl of green.

"Another failure."

Something sharp was poking him in the chest. He blurrily focused on it, taking in the huge spike that was driven into his ribs with a groan of pain. Green ectoplasm, dripping and glowing in time to his heartbeat, oozed from his pale skin around the needle-like thing.

His brain finally woke up enough to realize how much pain he was in. The onslaught of agony was more than his broken mind could handle. Darkness clawed at the edges of his vision, his eyes closed, and the world went black.

.

Sharp pain in his leg drove him from his sleep. "Ow," he moaned, trying to move away from the source. His body moved only a hair before he came to an abrupt stop, his chest bursting into a firework of agony.

"Wake up."

"Mmmm." Danny's eyes flickered open, blinking at the brilliant light shining overhead. Tears made his eyes water as he struggled to make out anything beyond the bright pain.

"Daniel." The voice was sharp and hurt his ears. More pain - distant compared to the agony was growing in his chest - spiked in his leg.

The shadowy figure leaning over him slowly came into focus. "Vlad," he slurred. The blink of his eyes seemed to take an eternity. "Whas…" He stopped partway through the word, unable to remember what he'd been trying to say. Instead, he closed his eyes, intending to drift back into that painless blackness.

Claws dug into his face, jerking his head around. Danny winced at the pricks on his skin, but couldn't get his brain to do anything other than groan in disappointment at not being allowed to fall back asleep. "Apparently you need to be awake for this. Your core isn't active enough when you're asleep."

"Core?" That got Danny's attention for a few moments. "What're you…?" He jerked an arm, the chains rattling distantly.

"Hush." Vlad let go of his face, wiping specks of ectoplasm off his hand onto a rag, and started to dig through the implements on a table nearby. "I may need your help, but I certainly don't need to listen to your prattle."

"Pra-" Danny started to mindlessly copy the word, too drugged to be able to understand what Vlad was saying. When Vlad turned around with a huge needle in his hand, Danny froze. "Vlad?" he asked, fear creeping into his voice.

"I will gag you if you speak again." Vlad stepped forwards, lined up the point of needle with the end of the spike still lodged in Danny's chest, and then pushed the needle into the spike. In, and in, and in. Danny waited a breathless few seconds before he felt the needle deep inside his chest. "But if you must know, I require a piece of your core."

Danny's mouth moved soundlessly, brain swamped with how agonizingly wrong this felt. Something was digging around inside his chest, pushing past important internal organs. However, it wasn't anywhere near as painful as he'd been expecting. Just a strange sort of pressure.

Then Vlad found his core. The needle pushed in and Danny screamed, jerking violently against the restraints for the few seconds he managed to stay conscious. It was wrongand it hurt and oh my God did it hurt like nothing he'd ever felt before…

His mind staggered back to consciousness a disappointingly short period of time later. It could've been just seconds. Danny felt his head rolling, felt the pain in his throat from the scream that had been torn from him, felt a strange hollow echoing agony deep inside his chest. His eyes slowly flickered open.

"That wasn't so bad," Vlad muttered, holding up a small beaker in his hand. Inside, glowing like a miniature star, was a sample of Danny's core. His very soul. Vlad had stolen a piece of Danny's soul and was holding it in his hands.

"Give it back," Danny tried to say, but the words were slurred and impossible to make out.

Vlad waved a dismissive hand. "It'll regrow." His voice shimmered with excitement. "Look how healthy it is. This will work. This has to work."

"Work?" Danny mumbled, having to blink far too often to keep the world in focus. His body was determined to drift back into unconsciousness. "Wha-"

"Watch." Vlad grinned at Danny, mouth full of fangs, and then reached a hand into his own chest. Vlad closed his eyes and made a disgusting groaning noise. "It's really not so bad, if you'd stop fighting every step of the way," Vlad murmured.

Danny closed his eyes, turning his head away, not sure what Vlad was doing but positive it wasn't something he wanted to watch. A tch-ing noise drew his cautious gaze back. Vlad was eyeing him. One of his hands held the beaker with the bit of Danny's core. In his other hand, glowing and bright and shimmering like a red sunset, was something Danny assumed was a piece of Vlad's core.

Through the pain and the confusion crashing around in his drugged brain, Danny felt a horrible sense of unease. "Don't-" he tried, not sure what Vlad was about to do, but definitely sure he didn't want it to happen.

Vlad slowly brought his hands together, gently letting the bit of his core drip into the beaker with Danny's. They both watched - one entranced and the other horrified - as the swirling red and greens mingled and sparked with pure white.

Danny couldn't drag his eyes away from what was happening. He still didn't understand… What was going on? What was Vlad doing? His mind wasn't helping him fill in any blanks. It seemed content to just inform him how much pain he was in and how much better the world would be if he were unconscious.

"It'll take awhile to settle," Vlad said, brushing his fingers gently over the edges of the beaker. "Needs an incubator." Red eyes caught on Danny's. "Don't you think?"

"Vlad?" he whispered, his breath catching in his throat as the man stepped forwards, looming over him, holding the beaker of white light over Danny's face. "Wh… Don…." His brain wasn't working well enough to allow him to form full words anymore.

Clawed fingers wrapped around the spike driven into Danny's chest. Danny had just enough time for his eyes to widen before it was jerked unceremoniously out of his chest. He howled in pain, writhing on the metal table as ectoplasm spurted from his body.

"Oh, don't be such a child," Vlad chuckled. Then something sharp glittered overhead in Vlad's hand. "If you thought that hurt-"

Danny's brain stopped being able to hear when the knife descended, dug into his chest, and carved open a huge slice from his heart to the bottom of his ribs. Cold ectoplasm rushed over his skin, making the table slick and sticky. Danny thought he was screaming, but he couldn't be sure.

The abyss of unconsciousness rushed in to claim his mind. But just before he blacked out, Danny saw Vlad pick up the ball of white light and stuff it deep into Danny's chest.

"It's not like you'll remember this anyways."

Vlad's words followed Danny into the darkness.

.

Danny woke up in his bedroom. He flailed around, staring wildly at his wrists for any signs of the cuffs, then pulled his shirt off to look for a cut. Nothing. Pressing a hand against his chest, Danny tried to feel for that strange, painful emptiness. Again, nothing.

"A dream?" he whispered, rolling to his feet and stalking around his room. Nothing was out of place. The ghost alarm clock Danny had appropriated from his parents told him it was early Saturday morning - and that no ectoplasmic signatures had been recorded in the past twelve hours other than his own. No ghosts had bothered him all night.

It couldn't have been a dream. It had been so vivid. And painful.

"Mom?" he called, not bothering to change out of his pajamas before tromping down the stairs. The house was quiet and still, too early on Saturday for his father to be up and making noise. Danny found her sitting in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and looking startled to see him up so soon. "Do I look different to you?" He held out his arms and spun around in a little circle.

His mother blinked at him. "Different from… last night?" She cocked an eyebrow. "Were you expecting something to happen to you overnight?"

"No." Danny took her confusion as the answer to her question. He didn't look horribly sick, or weak, or experimented on. Slumping into a chair, Danny crossed his arms over his chest. "I just had a weird dream, I guess."

"Ah." His mother sipped at her coffee. "That explains you being up so early."

Danny was quiet, gazing out the window at the spring morning. He had a rule about not speaking to his parents about ghost things. Even though they were brilliant inventors and knew more about ghosts than any other living human… asking them a question about ghost things was a lot like asking a medieval physician about an infectious disease.

"Something on your mind?"

Danny shrugged and slunk deeper into his chair. "Do you know anything about ghost cores?" he asked.

His mother was silent for a long second before answering. "A little." She sipped her coffee. "It's the… heart of a ghost, I suppose. Or perhaps the word 'brain' would be more appropriate. It has the densest and more purified ectoplasm. It's where the source of a ghost's ectosignature is located."

His hand pressed against his chest unconsciously, rubbing at the slight bit of cold trapped beside his heart.

"Are you okay?"

Danny jerked upright at the concerned tone to her voice. He sent her a smile, forcing his hand down by his side. "Yeah. Just a strange dream." Then he stumbled out of his chair. "I'm going to go get dressed."

Her gaze followed him towards the door, her face saying that she was unconvinced by his answer. But she wouldn't pick and press at the issue unless he asked her to. She understood better than anyone why running to his rescue at every random problem that popped up wasn't a good idea. The last time, it hadn't ended well.

He stopped just before leaving the kitchen, turning to glance back at her. "Mom?"

She hummed and sipped at her coffee.

"What… what do you think would happen…" He trailed off, tripping over his own tongue as he tried to figure out what to say. "What… if two ghosts took pieces of their cores and mixed them together… what do you think would happen?"

Her coffee cup clinked loudly as she set it down. There was a few beats of quiet as she processed the question. "I'm not sure, sweetheart," she said. "I would guess," she stressed the word, "that it might create a new ghost. A… child."

"Oh," Danny said, backing through the door. "Thanks." Swallowing heavily, he raced up the stairs, slammed into the bathroom, and made sure the door was locked behind him. He tore his shirt off, staring at his chest in the mirror, running hands over his skin. "It was a dream," he whispered, taking a few steps backwards to sit on the edge of the bathtub. "It was just a dream."

He pressed a hand against his chest, and he could have sworn - just for a second - that something pressed back.

.

Danny didn't bother with bugging Sam or Tucker about his dream. Since the attack several months ago, Danny didn't dare go near them. Not after what had happened.

Instead, three years of being a half-ghost had taught Danny to go right to the source of his problems: Vlad Masters. He blazed across town, startling a few birds into flight, and landed roughly at the edge of Vlad's property. Rather than just stalking onto the grounds, Danny paced back and forth along the fence, glaring at the pristine bushes and yard.

Vlad and him had settled into an uneasy truce lately that Danny was loathe to break. Part of that truce kept them off the other's land - Danny stayed out of Vlad's house, Vlad stayed out of Danny's house. If his dream last night had been just that - a dream - then Danny would be storming Vlad's house for no reason. The truce would be off. Vlad would be swooning over his mother in Danny's living room before the sun set.

Danny's stalking eventually took him to the front gate. He hesitated for a final few seconds before pushing the button on the monitor. It took a long while before he got a response. "What do-" The voice cut off. "Daniel." Vlad sounded surprised.

"I want to talk to you." Danny looked around for the camera, catching sight of it up and to the left. "Please."

"It's very early, little badger. Can we reschedule for this afternoon?"

Danny licked his lips, glanced around, then said, "No. Now."

The silence stretched on for so long that Danny wondered if Vlad had forgotten he was there. Danny was just about to pressed the button again when Vlad's voice came back. "Very well. I shall meet you at Cafe La'range in twenty minutes. Is that soon enough to appease your teenage sense of urgency?"

Danny narrowed his eyes and the tormenting tone to Vlad's voice, fighting to keep from curling his fingers into fists and breaking Vlad's security system to pieces. "Yes," he ground out. "Twenty minutes." Without waiting for an answer, Danny vanished and took to the sky.

Vlad was three minutes late. He sauntered into the crowded cafe and waited in line to order some expensive tea before walking over to Danny and slipping into the other chair at the small table. The tea steamed in the cool morning air and smelled strongly of lemons. "And what is the emergency this morning," Vlad murmured.

Danny scowled at Vlad. "You know you don't have to be evil 24-7, right?"

Vlad flicked a calm gaze at him. "This is me being particularly civil, Daniel. Do realize it is extremely early on a Saturday morning, the only day in the past two weeks where I have been able to sleep in. Now speak, or I am going back to bed."

"I…" Danny trailed off, unsure what to say now that he had Vlad in front of him. When Vlad's gaze turned annoyed, Danny settled on simply asking the same question he'd stumbled through this morning with his mother. Vlad's reaction to the question would get him some information, without giving away anything on Danny's side. "What happens when two ghost cores get… mixed together?"

An eyebrow raised slowly. There was a flicker of unease in the man's face. "You'll need to be a bit more specific. For instance…?"

Danny frowned. "Like, one ghost takes a piece of his core and a second ghost takes a piece of her core and… mixes the pieces together." He shifted uneasily at the empty look on Vlad's face.

"What are you…?" Vlad asked, the blank expression giving way to a grin. The man glanced around and leaned forwards. His eyes sparkled with delight. "You would have witnessed two ghosts procreating."

"Procreating?" Danny whispered faintly. He felt the blood drain from his face.

"What two ghosts were you watching?" Vlad asked, snorting out a laugh. "Let me guess: that stupid Box Ghost and what's her name… the cafeteria ghost."

Danny stared at the man. Either Vlad was an excellent actor, or the whole episode had simply been a dream. Even though Danny gave Vlad a lot of credit when it came to evil plots and hidden motivations, it was hard to believe that Vlad could have done… that… to him last night and sit here this morning, drinking tea, talking about the Box Ghost. "Nevermind," Danny said, pushing his way out of his chair.

Vlad snagged his wrist as Danny walked past. "Badger," he said. Red sparkled in his eyes. "Talk to me. What are you asking about this for?"

It was a dream. It was just a dream. Regardless, Danny jerked his arm out of Vlad's grip and hissed a dark, "I will never forgive you," and enjoyed the look on Vlad's face as he stalked out the door.

.

For two weeks, Danny did his best to forget the crazy dream he'd had. Between school and sleep, he trailed invisibly after Tucker, watching the boy learn to do wheelies in the wheelchair he'd ended up in. He sat in the tree outside Sam's bedroom window, watching her sit in her bed and stare blankly at nothing. Now and then, he ended up in his parents' lab, pretending to help them with their latest experiment, but generally just being bored and exasperated that they couldn't explain anything without going into PhD territory.

Every few hours, he'd feel a strange sensation in his chest. The world would come to a stop around him as he stood still, pressing a hand against his sternum, wondering what it was. Always fleeting, Danny was never quite sure if he'd actually experienced anything. Eventually someone would jostle him back into movement, pushing the moment from his mind.

Vlad stayed away. Danny had been tense for the first few days, keeping close tabs on the devious mayor, but the man seemed content to let the truce remain in effect. And, with zero proof that Danny's dream was anything other than just a dream, Danny had to be content to just sit back and watch.

It was a bright and clear Wednesday when Skulker attacked. It took Danny by surprise as he was walking through the park, the blast throwing him into the bushes. "Ghost child!" the hunter cheered.

Danny picked himself up, scowled, and transformed. "Finally, something to take my mind off this stupid dream." He shoved himself into the air, blasting at Skulker with more than two weeks worth of pent-up frustration.

The ghost dodged and fired back. Danny landed a few blows before taking off into the sky, determined to pull the fight up and away from the humans. "Slow as a turtle today, Skulk-breath!" Danny yelled.

Skulker followed with a roar of rockets and a few choice curses.

Clouds billowed around him before Danny slowed down and glanced back at the ghost. Skulker was still blazing towards him, several weapons on display and glowing with power. "Aw, all that for little ol' me?" Danny teased.

Skulker's eyes flared with light as a rocket was launched from one of the weapons on his back. "I won't need half of these to take you out," Skulker shouted.

Danny - seeing the rocket coming from what felt like a half-mile away - dodged it lazily. "That was sad," he said, meaning it, but not slowing down. Several other weapons were still trained on him. The rocket may have been pathetic, but Skulker was not a ghost to turn his back on.

"Uh-huh," Skulker agreed, blasting at Danny a few times with weapons that were too weak to do any real damage. "I'll have your head for a footrest yet!"

Danny caught on a second too late. The pathetic rocket. The weak blasts. He gasped and spun around, but the net the rocket had released was already wrapping around him and binding him into a tight ball. Danny cursed as the glowing strands held him tight and zapped him nearly into oblivion. He fell.

Skulker caught him just above the level of the trees, holding the net out like a trophy. "I - Skulker! The Ghost Zone's Great Predator! - have captured you! I have won!" His voice was loud enough to carry into the next town.

"Momentarily captured, yes," Danny muttered. "Won? I don't think so."

A sharp metal finger poked his side. Danny yelped and squirmed away from the protrusion. Skulker stared at him, his tone moking. "We'll see who's laughing when I'm finished with-" The ghost stopped.

Danny scowled and crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look put-out. "Just finish your stupid victory rant so I can escape and beat you up."

"Are you… alright, ghost child?"

Danny's head whipped around at the concern in Skulker's voice. He'd heard many words from the obsessive hunter, but concern was something he hadn't been sure the ghost could experience. "I'm fine."

Despite Danny's words, the ghost just continued to stare at him, seeming to dither over something. Then, to Danny's complete astonishment, Skulker retracted the net and dumped Danny onto the ground.

"What are you doing?" Danny asked, getting to his feet and staring at the ghost.

"It would be improper," Skulker said, standing straight-backed as he stuffed the net into his arm. "If I would have known, I would have left you alone."

Danny was utterly lost. "Oh," he said, unable to come up with anything else to say. Danny felt himself getting slightly worried about the strange ghost. This was very much not like Skulker.

"You will not be so lucky next time," Skulker said, the pure threat ringing in his voice making Danny relax. "For I am Skulker! The Ghost Zone's Greatest Predator!" With one last glare, the ghost disappeared.

Danny stood there, looking around. "That was… weird. Maybe I should-"

His voice cut off as that odd feeling slammed into his chest again. He gasped in a breath, pressing a hand against his breastbone, feeling something determinedly push back. "Ow," he groaned, sinking to his knees. Why did it hurt this time? What was wrong with him? Was it getting worse?

It passed almost as quickly as it had started, leaving Danny kneading his chest with his palm and glancing around worriedly. The park was empty; people had vacated the area when Skulker showed up. With a scowl, Danny vanished as well.

He didn't bother to turn human again when he appeared in his parent's kitchen. His father was nowhere to be seen - probably in the lab - but his mother was cleaning dishes at the sink. "Mom."

She turned around and blinked at him. "What?"

"Can you… scan me, or something, with one of your gadgets?" Danny flushed at the childlike wording of his question. He'd always depended in Sam, Tucker, or Jazz to remember what the inventions were called and specifically what they did.

His mother set down the plate in her hand and wiped her hands with the towel. "You're going to have to be a little more specific, sweetheart."

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I think there's something wrong with me," he said. He pushed a hand against his chest. "Like, here. There's this really weird feeling sometimes, and it's getting worse."

Her lips pressed tightly together for a second, like they always did when Danny brought up something about his ghost half. Then she nodded and set the towel on the counter. "Come on, then."

Following her down into the lab as a ghost never failed to make Danny tense up. He'd spent too many long months fearing the lab for the reaction to have died away yet. It took a few breaths for him to shake away the worry of being dissected. He waited by the steps as his mother grabbed a few bits of technology, his father spotting her efforts and abandoning the device he was working on to wander over and help.

"What's up, Danno?" the man asked.

"Nothing," Danny answered automatically. His mother made a noise at that, which made Danny wince and shift uncomfortably. "Or, you know, maybe there's something wrong with me and Mom's going to scan me and see if she can see anything."

His father grinned. "Those are two very different options. What'cha looking for, Mads?"

"The spectra-scope," she answered, head half-buried in a pile of tools. She waved something over her head. "The HD-version, not this one."

"I think I know where that is," the man said, bounding off to help search. Technology crashed and groaned as the piles were shifted. "This place is a mess, we should think of selling some of this."

It took several minutes for them to locate several camera-like devices and get them hooked up to computers and the software loaded. Then Danny was carefully maneouvered in front of the cameras. He closed his eyes and waited.

"It's not going to hurt," his mother said.

"Uh-huh," Danny agreed, not opening his eyes.

"It's just taking a picture-" When his mother's voice cut off, Danny's eyes jerked open. She was staring at the computer screen, looking confused and bewildered.

"What is that?" his father asked softly.

"What is what?" Danny asked.

After a few seconds of silence, his mother clicked several buttons on the computer screen and gestured for Danny to come over. He left his spot in front of the cameras gratefully. Sure it hadn't hurt - nothing his parents had done to him had hurt since they'd found out about him - but he still didn't like being on the receiving side of their inventions. He walked over to the computer and stared at the picture on the screen. "What is it?" he asked. It looked like a blob, sort of in a human shape, with tree-like roots running here and there and two bright eyes glowing from the center.

"It's a spectral picture," his father said. "It's your aura." As his fingers traced over the screen, Danny could kind of see how it could be a picture of him. Arms and legs and such. "Baseline, lines of power, and," the finger tapped the glowing eyes, "a core."

"But there's two of them," Danny said. When his parents didn't respond, Danny looked from one to the other. "Ghosts don't have two cores," he pressed. "Just one."

"I know," his mother said, her voice faint.

"Then how come-" Danny froze, half-pointing to the picture, feeling like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. He knew. He knew.

It's not like you'll remember this anyways…

But it was just a dream…

Danny suddenly woke up on the cot in the lab. The old blankets smelled of ectoplasm and fudge. He jerked upright, groaning as his head spun. A cold hand pressed against his forehead. "It's okay, sweetie." His mother's voice was soothing.

"What happened?"

"You fainted," she said. The teasing tone wasn't present. She didn't bother to ask if he was okay.

Because he wasn't. He wasn't okay. How could he possibly be okay?

It hadn't been a dream. It had been real. Vlad had stolen a piece of him and… what? Made a new ghost? Made a child?

Danny hesitantly pressed a hand against his chest, feeling the soothing thrum of his ghost core under his skin. And that strange, alien feeling of something pushing back. That other ghost core.

What had Vlad done to him?

The cot bowed under the weight of his mother settling down next to him. Her body pressed into his, warm and solid and calming. He leaned into her. She wrapped an arm securely around his shoulder.

"Talk to me," she said softly.

Danny stared forward blankly. Then he started to shake his head. He couldn't think of anything to say or do other than just shake his head.

"Danny…"

He jerked out of her grasp, blindly reached for the cold aether of the ghost world, and vanished from the lab. As the darkening sky lapped at his heels, Danny felt his confused, horrified mind solidify around hatred.

Vlad did this. Vlad hurt him. Vlad used him to create some new sort of life. And this wasn't just some strange clone-like thing made from some lost DNA and ectoplasm that never really solidified… this was from his core. This was him in a way the clones never were.

Danny didn't bother to even slow down when he came up to Vlad's property. He was burning with pain and anger, his aura flickering bright as a star as he chased through Vlad's stodgy mansion in search of the man. All the lights were off. All the computers were off. The place had the cold chill of being vacant for several days.

Two hours later, Danny sat on a bench a few blocks away, watching emerald flames light up the sky as Vlad's palace burned to the ground. The firefighters had made a half-hearted attempt to put the fire out at one point, but the flames had refused to die. Now they just stood by their trucks and watched as the supernatural flames purposefully ate everything that Vlad had ever owned - and not even a blade of grass more.

A warm arm curled around his shoulders and Danny flinched, glancing up to find his parents standing just behind him. His mother looked like she'd been crying. "Come on," she said, her voice gentle. "Let's get you home."

Danny resisted for a moment, but then gave in and let his parents steer him to the car. They didn't ask him anything - although the silence was heavy with questions - and quietly got him into his pajamas and tucked him into bed. There was a kiss on his forehead, and they left him to sleep.

At some point, he drifted off.

.

"Hi," Danny said, several days later, standing on the front step of the Manson household. "Can I see Sam?"

Mr. Manson stared at him. "You're the Fenton boy."

Danny gritted his teeth. "Yes, yes I am. Can I see Sam?"

The man's fingers were white-knuckled on the doorknob. Danny knew the Manson family blamed the Fentons a lot for what happened months ago when their only daughter had been hurt. Nobody had ever apologized to Sam's parents; he didn't think he'd blame the man for not letting him in.

Not that a door would stop him from seeing Sam. It was just the thought that counted.

After an eternity of silence, the man slowly stepped to the side. "She's in her room. I'm sure you remember the way."

Danny felt surprised to be let in. "Thanks," he breathed as he snuck past the man.

"And I'm sure you won't stay very long."

Danny could feel the man's eyes bore into his back. He nodded feverishly and took the steps as quickly as he felt he could without getting yelled at. One door, two doors, three doors, and Danny stopped, pushing open the fourth and stepping into the warm, dark-colored bedroom. "Hi," he said.

Dull purple eyes swiveled in his direction. Sam looked confused to see him for a long second, her fingers brushing at her shorn hair. In the three months since getting her head shaved, the hair hadn't grown long enough to do anything with. It wasn't even long enough to hide the scars tracing around her scalp. One section of the hair was much shorter, from the most recent surgery. "Danny," she said. Her voice slurred the 'n's into 'r'-like sounds.

He took a small step forwards. "How are you feeling?"

She picked at her bedspread. Her hands didn't move in sync. "Good. You?"

"I've been better," he said. "Missed you at school."

"Soon," she said, the word apparently an answer to a question he hadn't asked. A smile crept onto her face and she gestured him closer. "Here." Her fingers plucked at something on her bed.

Danny stepped up to her and took the offered thing. It was a piece of paper with a crude drawing on it. Scribbles of greens and blues in a vague human shape. He glanced at her, trying to make heads-or-tails of the drawing, and smiled. "It's nice."

"You," she said, slowly picking up her bits of paper and sorting through them.

"Sorry I haven't come to see you," Danny said. He couldn't look up at her, instead choosing to run his fingers over the lines on the paper. "I know I should have. I just…" He moved his mouth soundlessly a few seconds, looking for the right words to say.

He searched her face. The way the left side of her face drooped a bit. The dull look in her eyes. The missing spark that had always made the girl Sam Manson.

"I burned Vlad's house down," he said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I should tell you what he did to me. You'd be all up in arms over it." A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

"You don't have to talk to her like she's a gravestone," came Tucker's voice from behind him.

Danny flinched and spun around. "Tucker," he said, swallowing heavily. "I didn't know you were here."

"I was in the bathroom." The boy wheeled into the room. The mess several months ago had left him paralyzed from the waist down, confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. His head jerked to the girl. "She understands more than you think. Don't you?"

"Yup," Sam said. The right side of her mouth twitched up into a grin. She held up two fingers in a 'victory' symbol.

"Which you would know if you ever came over to see her," Tucker continued blandly.

Danny shifted his weight self-consciously. "I…"

"Yeah, yeah," Tucker interrupted. "We know. Guilt-ridden, confused, it's all your fault, we know. You're forgiven." Tucker moved his hand in a rough cross shape. "We hereby wash all your sins of the last few months away. Right, Sam?"

She rolled her eyes and said, "Yes."

Danny glanced from one to the other, not knowing what to say.

"Now, with that over," Tucker leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. The light from overhead cast odd shadows on his face. "What was with the supernatural inferno a few days ago?"

"You look kind of evil sitting like that," Danny had to say, still stunned that his friends had accepted him back so quickly.

"I was kind of going for evil," Tucker said with a grin. "You look through your superheros and there are a distinct lack of good guys in wheelchairs, minus the obvious one. And since I don't have telepathic powers and a team of good-looking men and women to do my bidding, I decided to go with evil."

Sam made a noise in the back of her throat and shook her head.

"Eh," Tucker said, holding up a finger. "I told you. Ironic evil. I'm still up for the whole 'save the world' crap when necessary." He grinned. "Besides, I've already got this chair tricked out nine ways to Sunday. I even got a grant from Google last week, can you believe that? If my parents let me have my way, I'll be wielding the world's first flying chair in a few months. And flying chairs? That's totally evil villain tech. But. That's off topic. Fire. You. Speak."

"I…" Danny hadn't actually come over here to tell his friends his problems. They had enough things to deal with on their own. That was even more obvious when he was in the room with them. He'd been just hoping to vent a little to Sam. "It's not a big deal."

Sam snorted in disbelief.

"I agree. Not a big deal?" Tucker stared at him. "You burned down Vlad's house. If you believe the news reports, that place burned for a day and a half and nothing they tried would make the fire go out."

Danny shrugged. "Really. It's okay. I can deal with it."

"Clone?" came Sam's sluggish voice.

"No." Danny shook his head. "Vlad wouldn't do that again. They never worked anyways." There was that pressure on the inside of his chest again. Danny shifted, pressing a hand to his chest. "It's not a big deal." The force was growing, pushing harder and harder against his ribs. "I… I gotta go…"

Tucker's wheelchair was in the way. Danny stumbled a step to the side before the sensation in his chest burst into a white flare of agony. He stifled a scream, dropping to his knees. He could hear Tucker call his name and yells for the Mansons.

Danny was beyond it all, lost in pain, almost completely oblivious to the warm, anxious hands patting his shoulders and telling him it would be okay and to just hang on.

What he wasn't oblivious to was the spear of cold heat that appeared next to him. It was familiar, tinged with red, and soothing against the star burning inside his chest.

"Get away from him!" someone called, the voice faint and tinny.

"Come along," said the cold heat, gathering Danny's unresponsive body close.

.

Danny's arms felt like hundred pound weights. He shifted, exhausted from the pain, barely able to crack open his eyes. Finally he wiggled an arm, getting the faint rattle of chains as a result.

He groaned, trying to focus on the world around him. Cold metal table. Chaffing bands around his arms, legs, and body. No stabbing pain in his chest this time.

It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a dream.

"Daniel."

"Been here, done this," Danny murmured, his voice slurred. "Got the T-shirt."

A cold hand grasped his chin, forcing Danny's head up and to the left. The blurred lights resolved into Vlad's face. White hair framed cold blue eyes. "Funny," the man said. "Do you know what's happening to you?"

"You kidnapped me, drugged me," Danny said, focusing on each word to get it out correctly. With each passing second, he was feeling more like himself. Likely, Vlad hadn't drugged him this time. "Stole a piece of me to make a new ghost, then put it inside of me to grow." He jerked his chin out of Vlad's fingers. "Wasn't supposed to remember it, but I did. So take the thing out of me and let me go."

"I was wondering if you'd remembered," Vlad mussed, "with those questions you were asking. The drug should have kept those memories from sticking." He stepped back a few feet and shook his head. "Despite that little flub in my plan, you've drawn several incorrect assumptions. Would you like to know where you got it wrong?"

"No." Danny jerked on an arm, feeling the hard metal bite at his wrist. "But you're going to do the evil thing and monologue anyways. So go ahead."

Vlad leaned closer. "I'm not going to take the thing out and let you go." He smirked and walked over to a computer station, which was showing an image a lot like the one that had graced Danny's parents spectra-scope days ago. "Although it is powerful enough to create its own identity, I figured I would give it yours."

"What?" Danny stared at the man in confusion.

"It's mostly you already. And once I take out your core, it'll just slip right into place. A new soul, a new personality, that is mostly you and a little bit of me, in complete control of your body." Fangs glittered in Vlad's mouth, even though he was looking human at the moment.

Danny swallowed heavily. "What?" he said again, this time his voice barely a whisper.

Vlad laughed. He held a glowing, red hand over Danny's chest. Deep inside, nestled near Danny's heart, he felt the second ghost core react. It pulsed and pushed, reaching upwards and outwards and making Danny scream and thrash around in pain.

His body shaking and convulsing outside his control, he missed whatever Vlad said next. His watering eyes were clamped shut. His fingernails were digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood.

And then came a sharp, dagger-like ache of electricity racing through him. His eyes jerked open as whatever Vlad was doing triggered his ghost half, pulling him out of the human world. The room around him tinged green. The pain lessened.

"I would say it was nice knowing you, Little Badger… but it wasn't."

Danny twisted his head so that he could see Vlad. The man was cutting away at Danny's shirt, revealing pale, untouched skin. Danny's mouth moved, but he couldn't find words to say. His mind was still numb from the pain and the electric shock.

"I will enjoy your new personality so much more." Setting the scissors down, Vlad grabbed a scalpel. It glittered silver and bright in the fluorescent lights overhead. He brought it to Danny's chest, moving it slightly this way and that, before seeming to settle on a position. "This will hurt." He looked up at Danny. "Goodbye."

Danny managed to groan out a, "Don't-," before the scalpel bit into his skin. It burned as Vlad quickly drew a line down his chest. Green ectoplasm bubbled and spurted from the wound as the man pulled the skin apart. Danny screamed, jerking his head backwards, his arms and legs tight and shaking against the restraints, the bindings around his shoulders and stomach barely holding him down to the table.

He felt Vlad's hand in his chest, digging around.

He felt Vlad curl his fingers tight around his core.

He felt the second core burst into light - a blazing agony that set Danny's brain on fire.

He didn't feel anything after that.

.

Danny woke up. He didn't know how much time had passed. He was still strapped down to the table, still in ghost form, and still sluggishly bleeding from the slice down the front of his chest. The wound had mostly closed, leaving a thin line on his skin.

Confused and lost, he rolled his head from side to side, trying to figure out what had happened. Slowly, his brain pieced together what had happened over the last few days. The kidnapping. The second ghost core. Vlad.

The lab was trashed. Everything was smashed. Several objects were smeared with red.

"Wha…?" Danny tried to speak, but his throat was raw and dry. The effort got him nothing but a coughing fit that made his brain spin. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the table. What had happened? Was he still himself… or was he the other ghost core and somehow had Danny's memories?

There was a noise.

It took a few seconds, but Danny managed to get his eyes open and look in the direction of the noise. Something floated in the air beside his table - a small ghost, perhaps only two feet tall. Skin so pale it looked almost blue, white hair that drifted around its head like mist, and innocent green eyes. It noticed his gaze and drifted a bit closer, making that noise again. A sort of meep-purr.

"Hey," Danny whispered. "Can you get me out of this thing?" His voice cracked and broke so badly and he wasn't sure the ghost could understand what he was trying to say.

The tiny ghost tipped its head. Its tiny claws touched Danny's arm, running gentle tickles over the skin. Apparently emboldened when Danny didn't say anything to discourage the behavior, the ghost crept closer and closer, eventually tucking itself under Danny's chin and curling up on his aching chest. It started up a steady, soothing purring noise. The cool of the ghost seemed to ease the worst pain of the healing wound, so Danny didn't try to chase it away.

"Great," Danny said, letting his head fall back against the table. "Where'd you come from?"

The ghost didn't bother to answer. Danny was mostly convinced it couldn't speak. Too weak, too feral, or… perhaps too young.

Danny groaned, closing his eyes. The second ghost core. The ghost curled up on his chest must be the second ghost core. Whatever Vlad had been trying to do must have gone wrong - Danny was still in control of his body, and the second ghost core had been removed and formed into its own personality. Vlad must be pissed about his experiment not working.

"Vlad?" He tried to call for the man, hopeful about getting released from this table, but his voice broke and he ended up coughing harshly instead. The tiny ghost raised its head from Danny's chest and looked at him, running tiny claws over Danny's face when the coughing fit passed. Then it curled up again, pressing its soft, cold hair against the underside of Danny's chin.

The next period of time passed in a slow, painful blur. Hours gradually slipped past. Danny drifted in and out of sleep as the wound on his chest finished healing. The small ghost was content to sleep tucked under his chin most of the time, but every now and then woke up and wandered around the table, examining every inch of Danny's body and refusing to understand any of Danny's requests for it to do something helpful and release him.

Vlad didn't return. The smell of the lab - caustic and charged with ectoplasm - was replaced by a musty, clingy odor that made Danny cough and choke if he breathed too deeply. The few overhead lights that were still working flickered and fizzled and - one by one - went out, sending the lab into darkness lit only by a few computer monitors and the glow of Danny's aura. Eventually that went out too, when Danny slipped back to his human form.

Still too weak to do anything other than rattle the cuffs holding him in place and cough, Danny could do nothing but wait. Wait for Vlad to return. Wait for rescue. Wait for the batteries in the table to run down, releasing the slight electromagnetic pulse in the bindings holding him in place, and allow him to finally slip free using his ghost powers.

He woke to the sound of someone moving around in the destroyed lab. There was a flashlight. Two flashlights. Their beams of light dancing and flickering around the wreckage, accompanied by quiet sounds of cursing and gasps of horror.

His lips were chapped and dry. His throat was raw. So the sound he made, trying to call for help, was pathetic and almost inaudible. With no better plan, he yanked on his arms, rattling the short chains holding the cuffs to the table.

The flashlights paused, and passed quickly over the lab until one of the beams landed on him. There was a call of "Danny!" and the sounds of someone scrambling over broken metal and electronics. "Oh my God, Danny," the voice said again, and this time Danny recognized it. His mother.

"Mom," he croaked.

She made it through the last of the junk and reached for him. "I'm here, Danny."

The tiny ghost curled up on Danny's chest looked up, its green eyes flickering to a deep red, the slow purr turning into a dark growl. Claws dug into Danny's skin. Danny flinched - he hadn't seen the ghost be anything but cute and kitten-like since he'd woken up.

His mother froze. He could see her, in the reflected light of the flashlight. She stared at the ghost. "What is that?" she whispered.

"It's okay," Danny breathed, trying to get the ghost to understand. "She's here to help. It's okay."

The ghost looked at him. It let out that soft meep-purr noise again. The red faded from its eyes, returning them to acidic green.

"It's okay," Danny repeated. He smiled, feeling his chapped lips pull painfully.

It took a few seconds, but the ghost slowly relaxed, slipping off Danny's chest to hover in the air nearby. Danny's mother took that as a sign and edged closer, quickly releasing the straps holding Danny in place on the table. Danny tried to sit up, but ended up nearly tipping over and falling off the table as the world spun around him.

"I got you," came the voice of his father, strangely quiet, and thick, warm arms wrapped around him and lifted him off the cold metal. Danny groaned in pain at the movement, but relaxed into his father's bulk, allowing the man to carry him. Danny's eyes closed. "Let's get out of here."

"No complaints there," his mother whispered.

They picked their way back out of the lab, his father having to move slowly and carefully with Danny in his arms. At one point, he stopped and said, "Over there."

Danny wedged his eyes open to look where his father's flashlight was pointed. In a corner surrounded by red and green smears, lay a ravaged corpse. Danny had to assume it was Vlad Masters - it was so destroyed and bloody that identifying it was impossible.

"Come on," his mother said. She pulled on Jack's arm, moving the flashlight beam away from the scene. Danny closed his eyes again and lay his head against his father's shoulder. It smelled of fudge.

.

The next thing he knew, he was lying in his bed. He levered himself to a sitting position, looking around in bland confusion. His body ached. His head was still throbbing.

His room looked normal. The shades were closed, but the bright glow from between them signified that it was day. Next to his bed sat a plate with crackers and a glass of water. Danny grabbed for the glass, happily downing nearly the entire thing before reaching for some of the crackers. It wasn't until his third cracker that he realized there was a ghost lying on his bed. Danny froze, cracker halfway to his mouth.

It was the little ghost from the lab - the second ghost core Vlad had made. It looked up at him with wide, green eyes. Its hair was wild, floating around randomly like it was underwater.

"Hi," Danny said cautiously.

The ghost grinned and crawled over to him, leaning its old body against his side. It made that meep-purr sound, looking happy and content.

"Umm…" Danny looked around, uncertain as to what to do.

"You're awake," came his mother's voice.

Danny looked up at her, finally letting the hand holding the forgotten cracker settle into his lap. "Yeah," he said. His voice was still raspy. There was a tug at his hand, making Danny look down. The ghost was pulling on the half-eaten cracker. Danny let go, watching curiously as the ghost gnawed at the cracker.

There was a scraping sound as a chair was moved over. Danny glanced up see his mother settle into the chair by his bedside. "How are you feeling?" she asked, reaching to feel his forehead. "Fever's broken."

"Not bad," Danny said. "Sore. Headache."

She hummed. "I'll get you a few aspirins." She pointed at the ghost. "Does that have a name?"

"No." Danny followed her gaze, somewhat amazed that half the remaining cracker was already gone. He'd never met a ghost that could eat human food before. Then, realizing it was probably a bad idea to give a baby ghost human food - since it probably didn't know better than to eat the thing - Danny took the rest of the cracker away. It blinked up at him.

"Don't feel like letting it eat?" his mother asked.

"Ghosts don't eat," Danny said.

"It's eaten almost an entire box of crackers since we got you home," his mother said. Danny looked at her, startled by that. She shrugged. "I honestly don't know how or why, Danny. All I can tell you is that it's been eating."

"Oh." Danny handed the cracker back, to the apparently delight of the ghost. It purred and rolled onto its back, chewing on the cracker. "I… I think it's that second ghost core," he said uncertainly.

"I figured that out." He felt her warm hand on his arm. "It's very… protective of you. But it seems to have gotten used to your father and me."

The silence that fell over the room was full of confused and unasked questions. Danny listened to the strange purring noise of the ghost and the rush of air in and out of his own lungs, not able to look away from where the tiny ghost was nestled against his hip. "How'd you find me?"

"Tucker," his mother said. "He's apparently got ways of tracking you." She fell into an uneasy silence for a few seconds. "We traced you to Axion Labs in less than an hour. Finding that secret lab… that look a long time."

"Oh."

"What are…" his mother's voice was uncertain. "What are you going to do with that ghost?"

"Put it in the ghost zone," Danny said. His voice was bland. "It's a ghost. That's where they belong." There really wasn't any other option.

"It's…" She trailed off again. She sounded like she wasn't sure what to say. "It's kind of your… child, you know. It's ectosignature is almost a carbon-copy of yours."

Danny glanced at her. "So?" He waited a beat, watching the uncomfortable expression on her face until he thought he understood what she was getting at. "Do you think I should keep it?"

"I-" she hesitated. "It's just that I've never met a ghost that could eat or sleep. Other than you."

So it would make for a good way to learn more about you, were her unspoken words. The thought made Danny hesitate and look back down at the ghost. It had finished the cracker and its eyes were closing sleepily.

"And Jack thinks it might have saved your life. He's been working with the police in the lab. That ghost's ectosignature was everywhere, but especially on… Vlad's body."

Danny moved a hand slowly, running a finger through the ghost's incredibly soft, cold hair.

"I don't want to push you into telling us what happened before you're ready," his mother said, "but… Danny… Vlad-"

"I don't want to talk about it yet," Danny interrupted, glancing at her. Vlad Masters was a bag of problems he needed a clear head to delve into. "Give me a couple days."

She nodded. Her gaze flicked down to the ghost and then back up to Danny. "Just don't do anything until we have all the information, alright?" She waited until Danny nodded. "We'll figure this out, just like we did last time."

Last time. Three months ago. When nothing had really been figured out, and everything had just been swept under a rug and unspoken rules put in place to not talk about it. But Danny sent her a half-smile anyways. "Sure."

"I'll get you those aspirin," she said, getting up and heading into the hallway.

Danny let out a slow breath and stared down at the ghost sleeping next to him. He traced a finger over its face, then down its body. When he reached the small hand, the claws clasped around his finger and held on tight. It didn't let go when his mother returned, so Danny had to use his other hand to clumsily take the aspirin his mother handed him. It didn't let go when Danny reorganized himself on the bed to lay down.

A baby ghost - or potentially something more than that, if it could eat and sleep. The spawn of Plasmius and Phantom; the stuff of Danny's half-forgotten nightmares of a future that no longer existed. Yet another stake to drive between Danny and what little he had left of a normal life.

Even in its sleep, the ghost didn't let go of his hand. Instead it curled closer, cold breath puffing against Danny's side, hair tickling the sensitive skin, and let out that soft little meep-purr.

Uncertain as to what the future days would bring and the lengthy secrets that were about to be unraveled, Danny closed his eyes and slept.


	13. First Meeting - Jazz, Danny

First Meeting

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Cori

* * *

At two and half, Jazz didn't really understand what was happening to her little family. She was trundled off to Gramma Fenton's for a few days and left there, teddy bear hanging from one hand and her special blanket wrapped around her shoulders. "Daddy?"

The older woman had swooped her up, held her close, and rambled on and on about some sort of brother that would soon be coming to stay with her. Jazz wasn't entirely sure what a 'brother' was or what sort of work that would entail – would it be like a new teddy bear?

Three days of Gramma's hugs and kisses and treats and sleeping on a strange bed were more than enough for young Jazz. So when her father appeared back in the doorway, she flung herself at him. "Pick me up! Pick me up! Daddy!" She snuggled close to him as he chuckled and rubbed her back.

It was only a few minutes before her father had collected her things and wrapped her up in her coat and loaded her into her car seat. Jazz noticed her seat had moved from the center of the car to one side, and another car seat had been added. She was confused by that – she certainly didn't need two car seats. "Why?" she asked, pointing to the car seat.

And again, that word came up. Brother. Only this time, there was another word attached: Danny.

What was a Danny? The question kept Jazz's mind occupied for several blocks before she noticed that Gramma Fenton had snuck several cookies into the pocket of her jacket. She munched happily on them until the gentle purr of the car lulled her to sleep.

Warm hands unbuckled her from her seat and lifted her into strong arms. She surfaced from her dream just enough to push her nose into the crook of her father's neck. Then there was quiet talking. The sound of her mother's voice made her sit up blearily. "Mommy?"

"Sweetie," came the soft reply.

Jazz reached for the voice, the world still blurry from sleep, and hands appeared to pull her close. This body was softer and smaller and smelled of apples. "Miss you," she said.

"I missed you too," her mother said gently. The arms held her close and fingers trailed through her hair. "Do you want to meet your new brother?"

Brother. Jazz sat up in her mother's arms. She was curious to find out what this creature was – and now it seemed as though she would get the chance. "Yes!" she cheered.

Her mother shushed her. "Quietly, now. He's just gone to sleep and we don't want to wake him."

Wake him?

Jazz found herself being carried towards one of the empty rooms of the house, her father two steps behind them. She watched curiously as her mother pushed open the door and walked in.

The room wasn't empty anymore. The walls had been painted blue. A new dresser was in the corner, and some of her old baby toys were on the floor. And there was her crib – she didn't use it anymore, now that she had a big girl bed – why was it here?

The question was soon answered as her mother walked over to the crib and they looked inside. There, with a thin blanket covering him, was a fat, soft-looking doll. "Dolly?"

At the sound of her voice, the doll moved. The fingers clenched into fists and little blue eyes opened. Jazz stared at the doll in wonder as the arms moved. What sort of doll was this?

"Oh, Jazzy, you woke your brother up," her mother said softly. "Here."

Jazz was set on the ground. She bounced on her toes as her mother lifted the strange, soft doll from the crib and held him gently in her arms. When her mother settled onto the floor, holding the doll so that Jazz could see him, Jazz quickly hurried over.

"Careful," her father cautioned, crouching down behind her. "He's very young."

With all due care, Jazz reached out a finger and touched the doll's arm. It was warm and soft and felt like her own arm. Blue eyes peered up at her, clear and beautiful, and strands of silky black hair curled on his head. This wasn't like any sort of doll Jazz had ever seen before. "Brother?" she asked, trying out the new word.

Her mother smiled. "Yes, Jazz. This is your brother, Danny."

Jazz sat down too, reaching out a curious hand to touch the brother's face. She was nearly there when a flailing, fist-like hand reached out and snagged her finger. Little, warm fingers curled tightly around hers. She froze, startled. As if he was pleased with this new development, the brother smiled and started to make noises. They weren't words – just noises.

She found herself smiling too. "Hi, Brother," she said.

The brother giggled at her words and shook his fist, making her hand move. Somewhere behind her, a camera flashed.

"You're going to help me take good care of your brother," her mother said, "right? He's so very small that he'll need a big sister like you to help look after him."

Eyes wide, grin on her face, Jazz nodded solemnly. "Promise," she said.


	14. Ectoplasmic Doodles - Danny, Vlad

Ectoplasmic Doodles

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Cori

* * *

It started off as such a small thing, soon after the accident. Anything Danny would touch while making the ectoplasm pulse inside of him would be left with a glowing, green stain. Neither Sam nor Tucker could see the fingerprints, and nobody else in town seemed to be able to see them either. Soon Danny was delighting in leaving 'his mark' all over town. His handprints would be visible for weeks before the ectoplasmic radiation completely faded.

Eventually, handprints became boring for the young halfa. He quickly progressed to scrawled pictures and words on the sides of buildings, drawn with his fingers. Most were inappropriate and typical teenager-type things. On one exceptionally boring weekend almost a year after he got his powers, Danny turned the clock tower into a giant (albeit badly-drawn) picture of Lancer peeing on the library. He enjoyed that image - never explaining to his friends why he broke into a fit of laughter every time he caught sight of the clocktower for the next several weeks.

It was most of the way through his tenth grade year before he realized an actually useful thing to do with this pointless ability. Using a pen that had run out of ink, Danny carefully pushed ectoplasm into the point, then scribbled across his desk. It left a thin line of glowing ectoplasmic energy visible only to himself. Grinning with delight, Danny proceeded to copy all of his notes onto his desk. They came in extremely handy for the no-notes test the next day.

Eminently pleased with himself, Danny continued to use his strange 'invisible ink' power in school whenever he found the need. He scrawled some lewd images and words on Dash's locker - even once managing to get the jock's coat - and left himself handy messages in each of his classes. Unlike most of his other talents, this one felt like one of those stupid, fun abilities that would never get him in trouble. After all, who else would ever be able to see them?

Vlad moving to town just before eleventh grade changed that. Vlad could see the scrawled images and took offense to pretty much everything Danny drew. The man even added some of his own - ones that were little more mature than Danny's.

But what fascinated Danny were the strange, Egyptian-like glyphs that Vlad peppered his house with. He understood the point of the insults left in ten-foot-tall, glowing letters across buildings. These odd images, though, were unintelligible to his teenage brain. Too busy to spend time researching what they were - and his friends unable to help, being they couldn't see them at all - it took Danny months to get his first clue as to why Vlad would draw them.

Unfortunately, that clue came via a ghost known as the Box Ghost.

"Get back here!" Danny shouted, changing directions mid-flight when he caught sight of the errant ghost farther to his left than he'd expected.

The Box Ghost shot a scowl over his shoulder. "You'll never catch me! I am The Box Ghost!"

"Yeah, I've never caught you before," Danny muttered under his breath, catching up to the ghost. He tapped the spook on the shoulder. "Boo."

A box flew out of the shadows, narrowly missing Danny's head. He ducked and scowled, reaching for the Thermos strapped to his back. With a science test tomorrow, he really didn't feel like dragging this out and dealing with the potential bruises from getting hit with flying boxes. "Say 'goodbye', Boxy!" Danny said, pointing the Thermos at the Box Ghost.

The Box Ghost dodged sideways, apparently attempting to phase through the nearby wall, but instead slammed straight into it and tumbled to the ground. The ghost rolled to a stop, his head oddly shaped from the force of the impact. Ectoplasm leeched from large cuts on the ghost's side.

"Ouch," Danny muttered, vacuuming up the dazed ghost before turning his attention to the wall. He could see the thick smear from where the Box Ghost had collided with the brick. "Now why…" he mumbled, slowly working his way along the wall until he found something out of the ordinary: one of those strange pictographs Vlad drew.

Danny ran his fingers over the glyph, then tried to phase his hand through the wall. He failed at first, the brick feeling as solid as if he were human. He put more power behind it, watching the pictograph glow brighter and brighter. After a few seconds, the wall started to feel less like brick and more like jello, then the glyph flashed and vanished and Danny almost fell through the wall before catching himself. With Vlad's picture gone, the wall was no longer a solid force. "Weird," Danny said.

After that, Danny tried to keep an eye out for the strange images. After a few days, he found another that looked the same and had the same effect - preventing him from phasing through whatever it was attached to - and carefully copied the image into his notebook.

"No idea what it is," Sam said through a mouthful of salad, eying the sketch in Danny's notebook the next day at lunch. "You say Vlad's covering the town in these?"

Danny shrugged and put his chin on his arms. "I'm sure it's something the fruitloop is doing just to bug me."

"You'll have to point one out next time you see one," Tucker added. "We can get a better picture and run it through a search algorithm."

"Can't," Danny said, then sighed as he realized this was going to lead to him having to explain to his friends about his invisible ink power - and that he'd been cheating on his tests for the last six months. Really, Danny figured it was a good trade and not worth stressing over. He'd saved the school several times; what was a bit of help on a test? But he knew Sam wouldn't see it that way. "Humans can't see them."

Tucker shot him a look, then took another bite of his burger. "Oh. Well then, we'll have to search with your… copy." The teen hesitated before the last word, grinning down at Danny's sloppy scribbling. "Maybe we should work on your tracing ability. You kinda suck."

Danny stuck out his tongue at Tucker. "You try tracing something that's invisible and see how you do."

"I wonder what it does," Sam mused.

"Doesn't let ghosts phase through it. It's like, a strange sort of ghost shield." Danny moved his hands in a bad attempt to show what he meant. "Only it's not a ghost shield. It's… just a picture."

"Or a rune," Tucker added. He laughed a little at his own thought. "You know, like on that video game. You draw them and they do things."

Danny snorted and lifted his head off his arms long enough to snag a handful of his friend's french fries. He'd forgotten (again) to bring lunch money. "So we're going directly from 'strange picture' to 'magic'?" Danny shook his head, ignoring the way Tucker wrapped an arm protectively around his lunch tray and glared at him. "It's ghosts, Tuck. Not witches."

"Could be sort of the same concept," Sam put in, shrugging a shoulder when Danny shot her a dubious look. "I mean, I wouldn't jump to magic either, but maybe it's something along the same lines. Lots of stories say magic is just the ability to move energy around… and isn't that was ectoplasm is and what you do?"

"Yeah… no," Danny said. He sat back in his chair, munching on the stolen fries. "I'm not even going to give that idea the time it takes to think it through. Ghosts can't do magic." He wiggled one of the longer fries like it was a magic wand. "Show me a ghost that carries around a magic wand, and I'll maybe think about it. For a second or two."

Tucker rolled his eyes. "Got any other bright ideas?"

"No," Danny said, popping his 'magic wand' french fry into his mouth. "But 'magic' doesn't qualify as an idea at all."

Minutes later, the bell rang. Danny sighed, snagged his notebook off the table, and vanished off to class. He tried to forget the conversation, but the stupid idea that it was somehow a magic rune just wouldn't leave his brain. During a sleep-inducing lecture in his English class, Danny found himself sketching out the glyph over and over on his desk - invisibly, of course. On the fourteenth try, Danny felt a strange tingle run down his arm when he finished the image. He pulled his hand back, sat up, and stared down at his desk.

The desk didn't look any different. It didn't feel any different. But when he pressed a hand to it and surreptitiously tried to phase through the wood, his fingers went nowhere. "Shit," he whispered. He sat still for a few moments, stunned, before a grin started to creep over his face. "I got it to work!"

Tucker was equally impressed after school when Danny sketched out the image on Tucker's wall (it only took six tries to get it right) and showed the boy the result. Tucker managed to con Danny into copying the glyph onto each of the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the door, and even the window before Danny caught on to what Tucker was doing. He scowled and sat in the air, cross-legged and unwilling to turn human and prove the teen's point, unable to leave until Tucker finished laughing and bothered to open the window for him.

After that, Danny took to carrying around a notebook and keeping his eyes peeled for the strange runes. By the end of the week, Danny had no less than seven different images drawn in his notebook. Unfortunately, with the exception of the last he'd found, none of them seemed to do anything. At a dead end, Danny dropped his notebook in front of his friends and asked for help. They dragged him to an empty computer lab, forgoing lunch in an attempt to solve the problem.

"So," Sam said, sketching her own copies of the glyphs onto paper, "we've got this one, which doesn't let ghosts phase through things. And this one you said you knew…?"

"It's like a ghost repellant," Danny said, perched on the back of a chair and swinging one of his legs back and forth. "You get anywhere near it and your hair stands up and you get this horrible feeling and all you want to do is leave." After having found that out, Danny'd taken the effort to be extra sensitive to the odd feeling and had located whole sections of the town Vlad had marked off. It was only then that Danny realized he'd skipped patrolling the north-east quarter of Amity Park for months - an area Vlad had marked heavily with that particular rune.

Tucker was searching through the school's computers. "Well, they're definitely not Egyptian," he muttered. "It doesn't look anything like it. It's almost more… Arabic… but not…" he trailed off, clicking randomly with the mouse and staring blankly at the screen. "Not a northern rune, either. So Vikings and Germanic runes are out…"

"That's helpful," Danny said with an eyeroll.

The boy scowled at him. "You want my help, ghost boy, or not?"

Danny slipped off the back of the chair and wandered over to glance at the computer. "It's a ghost thing, so it's probably a dead language, right? Like… Latin or…" Danny hesitated, not able to come up with another example off the top of his head.

"Or it's a language that never existed on our planet at all," Sam added thoughtfully. "Or one that's so old there's no record of it. Perhaps even some sort of base tongue all human language is derived from."

Danny stared at her, perplexed. "You mean, like a ghost language? But I've been all over the ghost zone and everyone speaks English."

"At least you think they do." Sam looked up from her drawing. "Think about it - every ghost you run into, regardless of whether or not English existed when they were created, speaks it fluently. Why would that be?"

"What else would they speak?" Danny asked, glancing at Tucker.

Sam sighed. "Never mind. What I meant was that I doubt you're going to find the answers on Google. These runes probably pre-date anything humanity knows about." She picked up one of her sketches and smoothed away a few eraser shavings. "So we'll have to figure out what they do the scientific way."

"Or I could just beat it out of Vlad," Danny muttered. Tucker snickered at the comment and offered up a fist for a fist bump.

"Or," Sam said, "we could figure it out and not let Vlad in on the fact that you know. Might be more helpful in the future."

"Yeah, that does sound a bit better," Tucker said, giving a half-shrug at Danny's wounded look. "It's always better to have a few secrets your enemies don't know about."

That comment started a two-month-long scientific endeavor - at least on the weekends Danny wasn't busy. Danny would sketch out the rune on a wall (getting it right eventually, as told by the strange tingle that always ran up his arm), and then Sam and Tucker would keep track of everything it didn't do. The list of things the pictures didn't do grew long, but slowly the trio started to pick out what each glyph accomplished. One prevented invisibility. One reflected ghost rays back like a mirror. One seemed to do nothing while Danny was around, but sent a tingling sensation down his spine when a ghost brushed up against it days later.

The strange runes actually turned out to be helpful. Danny spent an hour or so drawing runes on the school, and then had the next handful of weeks where the ghosts left him alone during school hours. Soon, Danny's house was also covered in glittering little pictures, not to mention a thick line of them that encircled the ghost portal.

Around Christmas, Danny officially upgraded his invisible ink talent from 'minor, mostly pointless power' to 'completely awesome'.

It all came to a head one early spring evening when Vlad Masters finally seemed to have enough of Danny's doodles. The man caught up with him just after supper, and said 'hello' by throwing Danny into an unfortunately solid wall.

Danny shook off the worst of the ringing in his ears, slipped into his ghost form, and flew over to glare at the older hybrid, making sure to stay just out of the man's reach. "What do you want?"

"A pleasant chat, obviously," Vlad sneered, crossing his arms in a way that made his chest and shoulders seem to swell. "Perhaps you'll make us some tea and cookies."

Danny's eyes narrowed and he bristled.

"Tut, tut, Little Badger," the man said. "You make it far too easy to-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, as Danny lashed out with an arm and caught Vlad with a right hook on his puffed-up chin. Danny spun, landing a solid kick to the man's chest and sending the older halfa stumbling back in the air. "I thought we had a deal. You stay away from me, I stay away from you." Raising a hand, Danny fully intended to blast Vlad Masters all the way back to his stupidly-colored mansion.

He wasn't able to, however. Fingers encircled his wrist, jerking it upwards and away from its target. Danny was just able to catch a glimpse of a second Plasmius (a copy?) before a blast of red energy slammed into his chest and sent him hard into the pavement. Just as he was gathering his brain back together and crawling to his hands and knees, a hand snagged his hair and jerked backwards. "Ow!" Danny hissed, barely noticing the sensation of a hand trailing along his back.

"While I credit you for figuring out how to utilize the wards as quickly as you did," Vlad's voice hissed in his ear, "I'm not pleased with how you're been covering the entire town in them. I do have to live here too."

Danny, unconscious tears forming from the pull on his hair, narrowed his eyes and met Vlad glare for glare. "My town."

"We both live here," Vlad corrected. "I was polite enough to leave you space to exist-"

Wrenching his hair free of Vlad's grip, Danny kicked backwards donkey-style, forcing Vlad to move before his more sensitive parts became the target of Danny's heels. Danny scrambled to his feet, pushing energy into his hands. "I-"

The pain that radiated from his back made Danny drop to his knees, the ectoplasm in his fists dissipating as his ghost form evaporated around him. He sat there, forcing his chest muscles to contract and relax, pushing oxygen into his system and alleviating the worst of the pain. It took several long seconds before he was able to look up at Plasmius.

"You might know a few basics, boy, but I have twenty-"

"-years of experience," Danny parrotted under his breath, having heard the spiel a dozen times. When Vlad's eyes narrowed dangerously, Danny scowled at him. "I've heard. I still don't want to be your son, apprentice, or whatever it is you want now. Whatever you figured out on your own, I can too."

Vlad looked furious, his voice barely containing his anger when he spoke. "You will cease your childish papering of the entire town in wards."

"Or what?" Danny asked impishly. "You'll try to kill my dad? Steal my mom? Experiment on me?"

"Or I won't take the rune off your back," Vlad snapped. "And you can practice living life as a powerless human."

Danny blinked, finally making the connection between what Vlad had done earlier and the pain he'd experienced. "You did what?" He tried to twist around and see what was drawn on his back, but ended up doing little but spin in a circle. "Take it off!"

Vlad snagged the front of Danny's shirt, pulling him up so that his toes were barely brushing the ground. The fabric groaned under the assault. "You'll leave my part of the town alone. I'll leave your part of the town alone. And I'll let you have your silly little powers back."

There were few things in the world Danny hated more than agreeing with old, evil halfas. But in this case, even after several seconds of silence, Danny couldn't think of a single other way out of this problem. "Fine," he growled.

Vlad dropped him like a sack of rotten potatoes, brushing his hands on his jacket as if to wash them free of germs. "I knew you could be reasonable. Perhaps you are starting to grow up."

Danny sent Vlad the middle finger.

"The rune on your back will dissipate at sunrise," Vlad said. "I trust you warded your house well enough that you can hole up in it until then."

Danny turned around and stalked away - well, limped away, as he found he'd gained a twisted ankle - without another word. He definitely didn't feel as though he'd gotten the better of this scuffle, and wanted to go home and lick his wounded ego for awhile.

"Oh, and Little Badger."

Danny hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the old man.

"If you ever want to actually be trained in how to use some of your powers, all you need to do is ask." Vlad spread his arms, the grin on his face looking like a man who had just stolen candy from a baby, and vanished in a swirl of red mist.

"I hate you," Danny muttered a few seconds too late for Vlad to have heard him. He rolled his foot a few times, testing out the pain, and then worked his way home.


	15. Broken - Jazz

Broken

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Cori

* * *

The steady blip of the monitor showed the activity of her heart. The slow rise and fall of her chest still brought color to her cheeks - even though she was only breathing because a machine was forcing air in and out of her lungs. Her eyes were taped closed; they wouldn't ever open again. For despite the semblance of life, there was no brain activity. The girl she was, the soul that had laughed and danced inside her eyes, the spirit that had grieved and hurt and screamed out her pain to the world… was gone.

Maddie knew that. Logically. Emotionally.

But still she sat there and watched her daughter breathe. In just such a short amount of time, it was something she wouldn't ever be able to see again. Even with the breathing machine and the tubes and the wires and the hospital room in the way, Maddie couldn't take her eyes off her daughter.

Red hair spilled across pillows. The slight spattering of freckles across her skin. A slight hook to the end of her nose that gave her a haughty expression, the curve of her cheeks, the way her smallest fingers curled so much more than the others.

She ignored the angry, red-purple marks that marred the girl's neck. A nurse had put a small scarf around her neck the previous day, but it always slipped down.

Jack couldn't take being in the room. He was happier remembering his beloved child the way she always had been - before the ghosts, before senior year of high school, before the world had gotten to be too much, before…

Danny was just gone. Maddie wanted to blame him, she wanted to be angry - but she knew she needed to not hurt the boy for dealing with what happened in his own way.

Maddie got out of her chair, ignoring the way her knees creaked and her legs protested the movement. Stumbling forwards, she rested her hands on the edge of the bed, then reached up to brush a piece of hair out of her daughter's face. Even though the girl hadn't moved in days, that bit of hair was perpetually finding its way into her eyes. Maddie fought back tears, wondering if that hair would move again after the casket was closed, after the young woman was buried under the ground, after Maddie wouldn't be able to fix it ever again.

It felt like an eternity later when she pushed herself upright and stepped back from the bed. There was no putting it off any longer. It would gain them nothing to wait. Everyone had said their goodbyes. Family was waiting downstairs for them, clustered together around mounds of soggy tissues, ready to fold her remaining family into loving arms.

She walked to the door, feeling much older than she actually was, and put her hand on the doorknob. It was cold and unyielding under her trembling fingers, the door a solid barrier between her and the inevitable future. All she had to do was walk out the door. A nurse would come in, and turn off the machines, and what remained of her little girl would slip away. It would take just minutes. It would be absolutely painless.

Her hand shook. The door didn't move.

Turning around, she rested her back against the door and closed her eyes. The room was loud with the buzzing of the lights and the whooshing and whirrings of the machines keeping her daughter's body from dying. Even though she'd thought she was out of tears, more trickled down her face.

Something made her open her eyes. Movement in the room.

Danny.

Maddie held still, mostly hidden in the shadowed recesses by the door - watching. Where had he come from? Not the door Maddie had been holding shut, and certainly not through the fourth floor window. The boy crept across the room, unaware of his mother's presence, and walked up to his sister's side to peer into her face. He was bruised and scraped up; greenish goo stained his clothes and matted his hair to his head. "You can wake up now," he whispered.

Maddie swallowed heavily, struck by the fact that Danny had thought the girl would wake up ever again. Maddie had known her daughter was gone two days ago, when they'd first found her.

"I got her," Danny said. He sat on the side of the bed, seemingly oblivious to the goop dripping off him and staining everything he touched an inhuman green. With a sigh, he reached out and moved a bit of hair - the same one Maddie had moved not ten minutes earlier. "Spectra's not going to bother anyone ever again."

Spectra. Maddie knew that name. A ghost that wandered through town now and then, feeding on the pain and insecurities of youth.

Danny scrubbed at his face with his sleeve, resulting in nothing but smeared tears and goo. "See? I listened to you. You said something was wrong, and I listened, and I found her…" His voice dropped to barely audible. "I know I got busy, and… and… I shoulda listened earlier. But I did. I found her. And she's gone forever, now."

Unable to just stand still and watch, Maddie took a cautious step forwards. Then another and another, but Danny wasn't paying any attention to her. He was focused on the girl lying in the hospital bed.

"Wake up," he whispered. "I fixed it. Please wake up…"

Maddie made it to his side before he glanced up at her, momentarily startled. "Sweetie," she said.

He didn't say anything - just stared at her with those dull, broken eyes. "She can… I fixed it…" He turned back to look at her. Maddie looked too. Danny's goo-covered finger had transferred a bit of green to the girl's hair, lodging the stray strand into place. As the ectoplasm dried, it would form a thick glue.

"There's no fixing this," Maddie said. She sat down on the side of the bed next to him.

Danny curled his fingers into his sister's hand. "No. I-"

"Danny." Maddie made her voice firm. Even though she wanted nothing more than to collapse on the ground in pile and scream and sob about the unfairness of the world, she didn't. She couldn't. She still had a child to care for. She took a breath, let it out, and then brushed her fingers through Danny's bangs. The amount of goop in his hair made the bangs stay where she pushed them. "There's no fixing this."

"I-" He stopped. Blinked at her. Tears traced clean lines on his cheeks. "Mom…"

She pulled him into a hug, ignoring his resistant body and the cold goo that soaked into her clothes. It took a few seconds for him to relax into it and melt against her, limp and warm and wonderfully alive. She was quiet, listening to him breathe. "She's gone, sweetie."

He didn't answer her. His shoulders shook and his body trembled against hers.

"She's not coming back." She rocked side to side, finding more tears crawling down her face, and closed her eyes. "She's not coming back, and we need to let her rest."

"No." He pushed against her, struggling to pull out of her arms. She didn't let him go, but let him get far enough away that she could see the wild look to his eyes. "No. I fixed it. I-"

"You did good." Maddie forced a smile onto her face. She brushed her fingers against his cheeks, smearing the watery goop she found there. "You fixed what you could, but she's not coming back."

Danny stared at her, then at his sister's body, then back at her. "You're going to kill her," he whispered.

"She's already gone."

"No. No. I got the ghost that did this to her. I fixed it!" Danny yanked his arms out of her grasp and got to his feet, green lights flickering in his eyes. "You can't!"

Maddie very slowly shook her head, getting to her feet as well. "Sweetheart-"

"Don't touch her." There was a dark coldness to Danny's voice. He slipped between her and the bed, staring at her like a cornered animal. The florescent lights glittered in his eyes, making his face almost in human. "She'll be fine. She'll wake up now. I got… I fixed… I know…" The darkness faded as he repeated those last, lost words. "I… I fixed it… "

Not knowing what else to do, Maddie quietly stepped away from the bed, walked back over to her chair, and settled back into her vigil. Only this time, she watched two of her children. One lying on the hospital bed, kept alive by the hospital's machines. The other sat next to her, clutching her hand in his, whispering to her over and over and over.

"I fixed it… Wake up… I fixed it."


	16. Code Breakers - Lancer, Danny

Code Breakers

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Cori

* * *

I settled into a chair at the local coffee shop, nursing my cup of coffee. The lady behind the counter had looked at me a bit odd when all I'd wanted was normal, regular, coffee without the drips and dribbles of the newest fads. I had just smiled, though; normal coffee was still the best. A small notebook and pencil set before me, waiting for my meeting to start.

After Jasmine Fenton had swept through my 7th grade English course years ago, her parents had stepped forwards with a proposal. Their previous editor had quit and their newest research paper needed to be published before September. They just needed someone to 'look it over'.

The Fentons were geniuses when it came to technology, there was no doubt. But linguists? No such luck. It had taken nearly two months for me to make heads or tales the rambling nonsense the Fentons had sent my way. By the time I'd handed it back, I still didn't understand most of the content. But I was certain that, at the very least, the grammar was correct. And the check they'd given me had been really nice. I'd gotten a new computer with it.

The Fentons ended up winning some sort of special grant from the research, and I was officially offered the job as editor-in-chief of all future FentonWorks publications. All that time, I hadn't really believed that ghosts existed, so I'd turned down the position.

Now, though… after the chaos of this school year, who could possibly believe ghosts didn't exist? So when the Fentons had called me the last week of school, I'd been up for the challenge.

"Oh, there you are."

I looked up from my coffee, smiling at Maddie Fenton. The woman settled into the chair on the other side of the table, her large bag making metallic, clunking noises as it was set down. "Mrs. Fenton," I greeted.

She arched an eyebrow. "Maddie, please," she said. She said that every time we met.

But the more stubborn bits of my upbringing always got the better of me. "Yes, yes, of course," I said. "Maddie."

"Like I said on the phone, we have something new…" She trailed off, digging through her bag. "We'd really like your help with this." She produced a pile of papers from her bag and dumped them onto the table between us, looking at me expectantly.

Still unsure of what exactly this 'new' thing was, I reached for the papers and shuffled through them. Most of the letters on the page didn't even seem to be normal Latin letters - either someone had written very fast and sloppy, or this wasn't English. "What is this?"

"Jack stole them from a ghost a few weeks ago. We've been trying to decipher it."

"I'm not a language expert-" I started, sensing where this was going and trying to hand the papers back. I couldn't translate a language I didn't understand.

Maddie broke into my comment with a wave of her hand. "Of course not. We've already sent off copies of this to several government specialists." She smiled and leaned forwards, resting her elbows on the table, speaking like she was sharing a secret with me. "Are you aware that ghosts have their own language?

I knew a few things about ghosts. That they went around town spouting nonsense was a very well-known fact. That it was a potentially understandable language was a common theory. "Yes," I said hesitantly.

"Are you aware that scientists have been trying to deconstruct the ghost language for years with no luck?"

I nodded again, looking down at the papers full of scribbles. "I'm not…"

"Are you aware that there is now a substantial reward for breaking the code behind the ghost language? Substantial, as in seven digits?"

It took a second to translate that into an actual number. That was potentially more money than I had ever dreamed of having. "Uh… No. I wasn't." I have always prided myself on being something of a pragmatist - but being faced with the concept of millions of dollars definitely had my attention.

Maddie's grin grew. Her fingers tapped the pages. "Here's what we need. Here's where we need your help. We don't know what these symbols even sound like."

"I don't either. I'm not a-"

"We found a translator who is willing to help," she cut in.

I blinked.

"All we'd need you to do is sit down with this translator and discuss the language. Write it down. You'd be doing little more than asking questions and copying down the responses." She sat there a second. "If we are able to get the reward, we'll give you a quarter of it."

I stared down at the pages, unable to come up with a response. "Wh-why do you need my help with that?"

She took the pages from my hands. I followed them with my eyes, eventually looking up at her. No doubt I had a dumbfounded expression on my face. "You know language. You'd know what to ask. You have the ear to pick up on word relationships and sentence structure."

"I'm not a linguist. Surely there is someone better…"

Her eyes glinted. "Not that I trust with the information."

"I…"

"Five million dollars, split four ways," she said quietly. "For a summer of listening to someone talk and writing stuff down."

It was a dangerously heady thought. Over a million dollars for a summer of work. I could quit teaching with that. I could take up writing, like I'd always wanted to. I could buy that cabin on the lake I'd wanted. I could go on that vacation to France I'd been planning for almost a decade.

I think Maddie knew she had me. "Jack and I are building a translator. A Ghost Gabber, of sorts, that actually translates the language. We're not asking you to translate or decode the language. We found someone willing to do that. All we need you to do is break down what our translator is saying into something we can use."

My hands trembled as I brought the coffee up to my lips and took a sip. "Why me?"

"Because I trust you. Because you did an excellent job with that research paper a few years ago." Her grin grew a little twisted and she laughed quietly. "And because our translator won't talk to Jack or I."

"But he'll talk to me?" My voice broke.

"I don't know." She grinned and shuffled the pages of gibberish. "But for a million and a quarter, are you willing to take a shot at it?"

There was a saying. If it seems too good to be true, then it probably is. A million dollars for a summer of work?

But then again, who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

"I'm in."

* * *

I'd been in the Fenton's house before, but it'd been years. The place seemed about the same - a slightly rundown house with next generation science tools littering every available space. I looked around curiously as I followed Maddie past an old, stained sofa and into the kitchen. Two doors opened off the kitchen - one to the back yard and one, painted a day-glo orange and covered in words like 'keep out' and 'dangerous' no doubt led to the Fenton laboratory. My previous experience in the house had been confined to the living room and kitchen. This time, Maddie went right for the lab door.

I hesitated. There were plenty of stories about what went on down in that lab. But when Maddie turned around and said, "Coming?" I just nodded and followed.

The steps were narrow and steep. The lights in the basement were harsh and hummed just loud enough to be heard. Tables and benches crowded the floor space. And over there, on the far wall, was the Portal that so very often made the news.

"Nayt! S'alfren keh."

I couldn't quite hold back the shiver at the words. It wasn't just the words themselves, it was the echoing, empty quality of the voice. That's when I realized that Maddie had been very careful to not tell me anything about this translator I'd be working with. "Maddie," I said, taking a few steps forwards with the intent to grab her elbow and ask her about this translator I'd be working with.

By the time I caught up with her, it was unnecessary. I'd gotten far enough into the lab to see the ghost boy, Phantom, standing on the other side of the lab with his arms over his chest and his eyes glowing that eerie, inhuman green. My feet went still.

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth indeed. I let out a little breath. While I was in the camp that placed the odd ghost on the 'human-friendly' side of things, that didn't mean I wanted anything to do with him.

But for a million dollars?

The ghost looked my way. "Nnooaahh," he groaned, rolling his eyes and throwing his hands over his head. "So you go pick him?"

Despite my apprehension, there was a little prickle of indignity at that. The ghost didn't look any older than my students and, just for a moment, I let my teacher side out. "What's wrong with me?" I asked sternly.

Phantom winced. "Weart s'creztat keh," he muttered. "K'brena, nava."

"This is your translator?" I asked. "A ghost?"

Phantom's eyes sparked. "Had someone else in mind?" he asked sharply. "Thought there'd be a human out there that spoke the ghost language?" His eyebrow ticked upwards. "Kinda would defeat the purpose, if a human already knew it, huh?"

Put that way, it was sort of obvious. I pursed my lips together. I was not the brave one in my family. I was the quiet, bookish one that discovered video games a generation too late to be considered cool. I was definitely not the one to be dealing with a ghost.

"Listen, Phantom," Maddie said. "We want to do this. You wanted to do this. Without bringing in the government or having this drag on for months finding someone else, he's who we could get. And, now that there's a reward out for translating your language into ours, we don't have months to waste."

Phantom seemed to shimmer like the air above hot tar. "Fine," he said. "I'll work with Lancer." He looked at me, eyes darting from my toes to my eyes, a sharp smile on his face. "If he's not going to run away scared."

I was torn between bristling in indignation and heading right back up the stairs. I'd seen this ghost in action - I was very well aware that if this ghost decided to kill me, I'd be dead before I knew what was going on.

But Phantom was one of the nicer ghosts. And I was surrounded by ghost hunters. And a millions dollars for a few months… "I'll do it," I said bluntly, "but I want certain rules in place."

"Such as?" Phantom asked, tipping his head slightly to the side.

"We only meet up here, in this lab. You don't follow me home, or anywhere else for that matter. You keep your powers to yourself. And you stay visible the entire time." I ticked the thoughts off, quickly trying to rack my brain for anything more I needed to add and unconsciously hoping I'd add something that would make the ghost back out of the deal before I needed to.

"Deal," Phantom said. Some of the sharpness faded from his smile as he strode across the lab and held out his hand for me to shake. "For a million dollars, I think I can deal with you for the summer."

I hesitated before reaching out and touching the ghost. His hand was hard and cold. When we were this close, I could taste the energy floating around him as a metallic tingle on my tongue. The combined feel of the cold air and electrical pulse around him made the hairs on my arm stand on end.

"Keep your references to books to a minimum, though," he added as an afterthought. "It's summer."

"How do you say 'it's a deal' in ghost?" I asked.

"Ghosts don't make deals," he said as he let go of my hand. The mist in his green eyes simmered and swirled as I shivered at the callous statement. "So. Zweck j'hallalt?" He grinned at me and gestured towards a table that was relatively free of technology. Two chairs were sitting there, along with a computer and sheets of paper. "Sen sn'Karta freya." I had the feeling he was offering me a place to sit.

"Nothing leaves the lab," Maddie said into the silence. "Computers and paper stay here. I don't want this to leak. Your involvement in this project - both of you - is a secret for right now."

Phantom shrugged, lazily floating into the air. "Yvet."

I nodded in agreement to Maddie's statement, looking up at the ghost apprehensively. I still wasn't sure I'd made the right choice. I was just an English teacher. What was I doing trying to get a million dollar prize by talking to a ghost?

"Al'k'protaac, Lancer," the ghost said, dropping into one of the chairs and starting to pick through the piles of paper littering the table. "Al'k'maniita qcektra."

"You know you're just speaking gibberish, right?" I commented as I walked to the other side of the table and glanced down at the papers. They were covered in more of those scribbles Maddie had shown me at the coffee shop. Ghost writing.

"Not really," Phantom muttered.

I blinked up at him. I felt marginally safer on the other side of the table, even though logically I knew the table (or a wall) was no real barrier against a ghost. "Not really?"

The ghost grinned at me, looking sheepish. "It all sounds the same to me - English or ghost. I usually can't tell until someone looks at me weird."

That caught me a bit off guard. "Really?"

"Why do you think I need your help?" the ghost said, gesturing with some of the papers and floating a few inches higher. I had the feeling he wasn't even sitting on the chair the Fentons had provided. "If I could do this by myself, I would've."

"And this is ghost writing," I said, already knowing the answer. The ghost nodded, so I added, "And you can read it."

"I wrote it," he answered. His elbows touched the table and he stared at me. "Not going to sit down? I won't hurt you."

"I know," I said shortly, but I still didn't sit down. "I was sitting all day."

Phantom quirked an eyebrow, but didn't refute the comment. "Where should we start?"

"And you didn't want the Fentons to help you, even though they are world-famous scientists."

"I'm not…" he hesitated, looking over his shoulder at the two Fentons, "…very comfortable around them." He grinned slightly. "That feeling you have right now around me? I have that same feeling around them. Only there's two of them and they tend to surround you when you least expect it."

"How do you know how I'm feeling?" I asked. But when the ghost's face migrated into the expression of 'you don't really want me to tell you that', I changed my question. I was pretty sure I didn't want to know either. "What do you want a million dollars for?"

He shrugged. "Same as you, probably. I could do a lot with a million dollars."

"But you're a…" I trailed off before I could say the world.

He finished my comment. "Ghost? So? Money's money - especially on the internet. And I have stuff I want to get." He waited a long beat. "Are you going to help me?"

That was the million dollar question. The literal million dollar question.

All my life I'd taken the quiet, not-risky road. I left my dreams of being an author behind in college and got a teaching degree instead. I put my money in a savings account instead of travel the world like I'd always wanted. The most risky thing I did lately was log into online video games and beat up virtual monsters.

My fingers fiddled with the back of the chair. My nerves were jumping and telling me to head for the hills - that this was slightly too realistic and very much too risky for my health and well being.

But I pulled the chair out and sat down. "I think so," I said.

Phantom smiled and leaned forwards over the table. "I have it on good authority that it gets better," he said conspiratorially.

I blinked away a minor flashback from an hour earlier, when Maddie Fenton had been in the same position at the cafe, with the exact same tone of voice. "What does?" I asked faintly.

"The creepy feeling." He waved his hand. "I hear it gets better once you've been around me for awhile."

Plucking up some of the papers, I noticed that the words were a haphazard combination of human scrawl and the foreign ghost language. "That's a good thing to know," I said.

"Yvet," he muttered.

It was the second time he'd said that word. "What does that mean, anyways?" I asked.

"What does what mean?" he asked distractedly. He was making piles of papers.

"Yeh-vait," I said, saying the foreign world slowly and carefully.

He shrugged and didn't look up. "Exactly what it sounds like," he said. Then he looked up at me, confused. "What else would it mean?" He blinked a few times, then comprehension dawned on his face. "Oh. Yeah." He was quiet, seeming to search for an explanation of the word. "Uh… Agree? I means I agree with you."

"You really can't tell," I said.

He grinned and shook his head. "So. I have a five million-dollar language in my head that needs to end up on paper. Where do we start?"

Honestly? I had no idea.


	17. Demon Child - Vlad, Danny

Demon Child

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Cori

* * *

Vlad Masters angrily smoothed out his business suit as he stalked away from his latest meeting. It hadn't gone well – too many investors in the business he was trying to acquire were holding out for improbable sums of money – and Vlad was in something of a bad mood. It surrounded him in a palpable aura; people avoided eye contact as he strode down the hall and out through the wide double-doors.

The Chicago sun was shining overhead; the day was hot and sticky. Vlad scowled up at the offending weather as his car pulled up to the sidewalk, perfectly on schedule. It had taken years to find a driver that could both keep their mouth shut and be punctual, and Vlad paid this particular driver a rather large sum of money to remain both quiet and on time.

She didn't say anything as he slid into the back seat, just an arched eyebrow and glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Home," he commanded. The car slid into the traffic seamlessly moments later.

Leaning back in his seat, Vlad closed his eyes. It would be perfectly easy to just disappear, go back to where those buffoons were likely congratulating themselves on beating the Vlad Masters at his own game, and overshadow then. Then they'd sign the paperwork, and then they'd see who went home to a congratulatory glass of wine. Rubbing his temples, Vlad wiped the vicious sneer from his face, sighed, and let the thought go. He liked to think he'd grown past such pettiness.

"You have messages, Sir," came a quiet voice.

Vlad opened his eyes and sent a glare towards the driver. She didn't flinch, not even seeming to notice the look. "Send them to my phone," he finally said.

His phone vibrated as the messages arrived. Vlad thumbed through them. Most were business related and could wait until tomorrow to answer. One near the bottom caught his interest. He opened the message and read through it, the headache that had been fluttering behind his eyes vanishing like it had never existed. He sat up in his chair and a grin appeared on his face.

"We're going to be taking a detour," he said, his voice nearly a purr. Pressing a few buttons on phone, he sent the destination to the driver and then settled back. It would be several hours before they arrived.

Perhaps this day wouldn't turn out to be all that bad after all.

* * *

"Do not leave the car," Vlad said as he stepped into the slowly darkening summer evening. He didn't wait for a response before he slammed the car door and walked towards a small building sitting in the middle of a field some hours south of Chicago. It was a nondescript shed, slightly run-down, in desperate need of a paint job.

Vlad didn't bother to knock, or even touch the pull on the door. He simply walked through the door, hesitating just inside to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the inside. It wouldn't make a very regal impression if he stumbled over something.

"Mr. Masters," came the greeting. The voice was somewhat hard to understand, being that it had both a robotic overtone and an ethereal echo.

A few blinks later, Vlad could make out the source of the voice. It was a tall, imposing creature that was nearly as thick around as it was tall. Acid green eyes stared out from a silver helmet. Vlad strode forwards. "Skulker. You've finally caught the halfling I've been hearing about."

As he got closer, Vlad could see the robot-like ghost was somewhat worse for wear. Scorches and scuffs stained the outside of its body. Cracks marred the metal. Several pieces seemed to be missing. "The halfa boy, yes."

"A child?" Vlad said, startled by that small fact. He'd been hearing rumors of the second halfa unleashed on the world for over a year, but actual facts had been few and far between. He'd hired Skulker to hunt down the other halfa months ago, but the ghost had ended up chasing little but rumor. After playing 'needle in a haystack' with a professional tracker for months on end all up and down the Eastern seaboard, Vlad had been expecting a seasoned adult.

Skulker sneered. "If you want to call him that. I'd go more for demon spawn."

Vlad's lips pressed tightly together. He stepped past Skulker's bulk and stared into the shadowed recesses of the small building. A thin, short-looking teenage boy glared back. The kid appeared to be tied to a chair, but in much better condition than the hunter. "Leave us."

"Are you sure-"

Vlad shot Skulker a dark glare. The ghost broke off what it'd been saying, shrugged, and vanished. Turning back to the boy, Vlad grabbed another of the dusty chairs and settled into it, crossing his legs and mentally reminding himself to throw this particular set of clothing away when he got home. No amount of cleaning would get the memory of this filth out of its weave.

The child looked barely human. If the boy had ever possessed the ability to fully transform into a human and ghost form, it was quite obvious he'd given up on the effort involved and had settled somewhere in between. His hair was a molted white and black, eyes an alien green that melted into a brilliant blue around the edges. Hair in desperate need of a trim barely concealed ears that swept up into subtle points, and when the boy snarled at him, Vlad could see the child's teeth were slightly too sharp to be normal.

"What do you want, old man?" the boy asked.

"A name would be nice," Vlad said, refusing to rise to the child's bait.

An eyebrow twitched upwards and a smirk settled onto the boy's lips. "I don't know you well enough to give you a name."

"Quaint," Vlad commented blandly. "I meant your name."

The kid leaned forwards, pulling against the ropes that held him in place. "I'm not stupid. And I don't play games with stupid humans." Green flared inside his eyes, illuminating the planes of his face in strange, alien ways. "You don't know who you're dealing with."

"Scary eyes aren't going to get you anywhere. Your name. Now."

"No."

It had been awhile since Vlad had dealt with a creature that refused his commands. Ghosts knew better than to cross him. Humans were too much in awe of his money and stature. Vlad had to consciously remind himself that this was little more than a child – and another member of his own rare kind – before he decided on a course of action. He didn't want to chase the boy away. "You can't get away, can you?"

The brilliant green of the kid's eyes simmered with fury. "What's it to you?"

"A person in a position to free you." Vlad rested his hands gently on his crossed leg, tipping his head slightly to the side.

"I don't make deals."

"This is less of a deal and more of a… proposition," Vlad said.

"Yeah?" The boy bared his teeth. "I've got a proposition for you. Why don't you undo whatever your bodyguard did to me and I'll demonstrate."

Despite the big words and gestures, there was no real darkness underlying those words. Much like a puppy, the boy was undoubtedly all bark and no bite. "You are in no position to-"

"I'm in every position to do anything I want," the kid ranted, his eyes glowing in the shadows. "When I get free of here I'm going to ruin your life, human. I can do things to you that you can't even imagine. I'll-"

"Stop." Vlad slammed energy into his voice, turning the word into a sharp command. His eyes flared red and he leaned forwards to put his face much closer to the kid's.

Showing off his complete inexperience with the spectral realm, the boy reacted instantly to the order. Much like any of the weaker ghosts in the Infinite Realms would have done, his jaw snapped shut and he jerked backwards against the chair, coming to a complete and utter stop.

Vlad didn't allow the glow to die, even though his eyes started to ache and water. For the third time, he asked, "Your name. Now."

"Danny." The word was quiet, apparently stunned by the instinctive reaction Vlad had jerked out of him.

"Short for Daniel, I assume." Vlad let his ghost energy fade away as he sat back in his chair, resuming the genial tone from earlier. He waited for the boy to give a shaky nod. "As I was saying: I am in a unique position to free you. Offer you some sort of life beyond the existence you were scraping out before."

"You don't know anything about me." Daniel's chin was still dropped low, his body pressed back against his chair, but there a sullen defensiveness was starting to work back into his voice.

Vlad nodded. "A fact I would like to rectify." He then waited in silence, wanting to draw the child away from simply giving distrustful reactions and get him into asking questions. Making it seem as though the required conclusion – to get in the car with Vlad – was Daniel's choice was an important step in gaining the boy's trust.

After a few long seconds of silence, the boy finally spoke. "How?"

Fighting back a vicious grin, Vlad squared his shoulders. "I'm willing to offer you a place to live, food, various necessities, schooling – including instruction on your rather unique abilities – safety, companionship, and anything else you might require."

Suspicious blue-green eyes stared at him from under the unkempt hair. "Why?"

"You and I are the same. Special, surrounded by a rather dense fog of humanity." Vlad allowed his aura to sparkle around him, dancing in his eyes and turning the inside of the shed a faint red before it faded again. "If nothing else, it is my obligation to see to your health and wellbeing."

"Why should I trust you?"

"What have I ever done to make you believe I am untrustworthy?"

Daniel jerked on his bound arms. "I don't know," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Something about the whole situation just seems… untrustworthy."

Vlad smirked at the comment, despite his commitment to remain neutral. The boy definitely had a sharp mind and an off-kilter sense of humor. Those were things Vlad could definitely appreciate. "I wanted to speak with you, and I highly doubt you would have stuck around if given the opportunity to leave before I arrived."

There was a derisive snort.

"If it would make you feel better, once I got you settled into my home, I'd allow you do use Skulker as target practice."

That comment got Vlad another look. This time the boy tipped his head up more, so the look was more direct and easier to read. Suspicion, definitely, but there was sparkles of interest as well. "That's your bodyguard's name?"

"I have several bodyguards," Vlad commented with a bland shrug, "as well as several homes. But Skulker is the one responsible for your being tied to the chair."

There was a long, dead period of silence as Daniel looked at him. Those strange, half-human eyes seemed to bore into what was left of Vlad's soul, making Vlad experience the child-like desire to squirm in his seat. He squashed that feeling harshly, wondering if the boy had some sort of latent mind-reading ability.

"I don't play games," Daniel finally stated.

Vlad was about to retort that he didn't either, when he paused and processed the strange tone Daniel had spoken in. "What do you mean by games?"

"I've had offers to live with old men before," the boy said. "They always wanted me to…play. To do favors for them, in return for living there. I don't do stuff like that."

It took Vlad almost a minute to comprehend what in the world Daniel was trying to say. When he finally got it, he grimaced. "I find the very concept disturbing," Vlad said – perhaps one of the most truthful things that had come out of his mouth all day. "You are a child."

The kid bristled. "I'm fifteen!"

"And I'm forty-two," Vlad countered. "If I'm ever in the mood for a playmate, I assure you I can find someone closer to my own age." He paused, letting the comment sink in for a moment, then said, "Any other objections?"

Daniel looked around, then at his knees, then at the door where Skulker had vanished. "I get to leave, if I want, and you can't stop me. No sending your goons after me."

"After a month," Vlad added. When Daniel's eyes narrowed, Vlad nodded firmly. "If I'm going to take you in, devote some of my precious resources to getting you resettled, I want a guarantee you'll stay at least one month. After that point, you can leave if you feel my companionship unsatisfactory." Vlad mentally rescinded the offer as soon as it left his lips – there was no way he would be allowing the child to leave his clutches.

There was no response, other than the kid staring into a shadowed corner, chewing on his lower lip.

Tired of waiting, Vlad got to his feet, brushed valiantly at his clothing, and then stepped closer to the boy. He took hold of the rope, gave it a twisting flare of power that make it disintegrate, and stepped back. "Do we have a deal?"

"How did you do that? I've been trying to do that for hours." Daniel scampered to his feet, staring at the chair in amazement.

"I can certainly teach you." Vlad clasped his hands behind his back. "Do we have a deal?"

The boy swallowed, his eyes scampering quickly around the room again. Vlad fought back a scowl – they would have to work on the boy's nervous tics. They were too obvious. "A month and I can leave?" Daniel asked. He still sounded uneasy.

"Yes. And your own room, all the food you can eat, training, some clothes that fit, a hot shower…" Vlad trailed off. He wanted to make the deal tempting, not just a list of the boy's faults. "Do we have a deal?" he asked for the third time.

Three times was the charm, as it always was in the spirit world. The boy, after a brief hesitation, nodded. "Deal."

Vlad smiled. He held out a hand. "Vlad Masters."

The child stared at the offered hand, then took it. His fingers were clammy and cold. "Danny," he said. "Danny Fenton."


	18. Dreamcatcher - Danny, Dan

Dreamcatcher

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Cori

* * *

"No, no, no, no, no!" Danny muttered as he chased the ghost. He was flying as fast as he could – but it wasn't quite fast enough. They were gone.

Pulling up, he whipped his head around, searching. Nothing but clouds and sky and rooftops. But there - there was a flicker of black and green just at the edge of his sight. Danny dove towards it.

Barest glimpses and the occasional screams of panic created just enough trail for Danny to follow as he wound his way through Amity Park. The mall was soon behind him, and the Nasty Burger, and the movie theater, and then –

"Oh, no, not my house!" Danny phased through the walls, searching desperately for the ghost, his mind filled with all the horrible things a ghost could do when given free rein of his parents' wacky inventions. And this ghost in particular. Time was definitely of the essence.

He found the ghost in the basement lab, still holding his two prisoners. They'd been taken captive nearly twenty minutes earlier on the opposite side of town. "Let them go," Danny commanded, floating just above the concrete floor.

"I think not," the ghost replied. White, flame-like hair danced around his head. Thick muscles pulled at a black and white jumpsuit. Deep, red eyes glinted above a sarcastic smirk. "I rather like having a shield you don't dare shoot at," Dan muttered.

The human prisoner squeaked in terror at that comment. Danny glanced at Dash – the jock had certainly been in the wrong place this time – and tried to give him a reassuring look. The football protégée's wide eyes stared back in horror.

"Clockwork said you couldn't hurt anyone," Danny demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's why I agreed you could come out of the thermos."

Dan shrugged a shoulder. "I'm not hurting anyone. Am I, Baxter?" The ghost shook the jock, grinning at the choked-off scream. "I'm just giving him a good scare."

"I'd rather you didn't," Danny said. "Let him go."

A forked tongue ran over white fangs. "He deserves it and you know it."

Danny's bruised rib and black eye twinged at that statement, but he refused to agree with anything his evil, alternate-future self had to say.

Then Dan's red eyes turned towards his other prisoner. "They both do."

The Box Ghost looked furious at having been captured. He was trussed up in a net and throwing complaints whenever possible. "I will not be captured in a round net! I am the-" The words cut off as energy raced through the net and made the ghost yelp in pain.

Danny wasn't entirely sure why Dan seemed to have a vendetta against the Box Ghost, but it really didn't matter. He had to stop Dan from… doing whatever it was the ghost was doing. And he had to try doing it without resorting to violence. Dan's Clockwork-enforced ban on hurting people only applied as long as Danny didn't attack him, and Danny wasn't entirely sure he could beat Dan one-on-one again. That first win had been mostly luck. "Let them go!"

"Calm down. I can't hurt anyone - remember?" Dan said, waving his Box Ghost-filled hand towards one corner of the lab. "Have you seen that?"

Danny glanced towards the corner. "It's the Fenton Ghost Catcher." He'd 'broken' the device months ago, but his parents had (as usual) put it back together again within days. "What about it?"

"It's a marvelous device," Dan said, walking towards it. Dash and the Box Ghost were dragged along, one whimpering in terror and one shouting threats. "I searched for it for years."

"In your time line?" Danny followed close behind, watching carefully for any sign that Dash was being hurt.

"Yes." Dan's voice was a whisper as he stared at it. "I realized early on that Plasmius's ghost was driving me to insanity. I wondered what it would be like, to separate myself again." The ghost's eyes were lazy as he turned to glance at Danny. "Of course, by the time I found it, it was broken. And the only people in the world who could fix it were dead – or avoiding me because I had stolen half their soul." A dark chuckle filled the air. "It really left me no choice, did it?"

Danny glanced towards the glowing Fenton Ghost Catcher. "You still want to go through it?" Danny couldn't imagine what the results of that would be. Two half-ghosts? Would two half-Dans be more or less trouble than one whole one?

"I've thought about it." Dan reached out and pushed his hand through the dream catcher's weave. His fingers separated in two – white and black – before pulling his hand back and staring at his fingers. Then a malicious grin slid across his face. "Especially now that I could take your ghost half and make myself whole."

Danny blinked and backpedaled. "No," he said. "That's considered hurting someone. Clockwork would-"

"You see, that's the beauty of this plan," Dan hissed. "Once I separate into two ghosts, 'Dan' doesn't exist anymore and Clockwork no longer has a say on what I do." He stalked towards Danny, red eyes blazing with insanity, forked tongue tasting the air between them. "I'll have your soul, Danny Phantom."

Danny clenched his fingers into fists, preparing to fight – even if it meant Dash and the Box Ghost being in the line of fire. "I won't let you-"

"Of course you won't," Dan said, his nose inches from Danny's. "I am you. Neither of us are content to let things happen. We control things. We are masters of our world."

Green reflected in Dan's bloody eyes. "You're not me," Danny said. "You're some crazy version that won't ever exist. I promised."

Dan's smile twitched up at the corner. "Promises," Dan whispered with a laugh. "How… young and naïve."

"Clockwork won't let you exist."

"Oh, I do love how you keep leaning on that old geezer," Dan said, drawing away from him and walking back to the ghostly dream catcher. This time he walked to the other side, grinning at Danny through the weave like the Cheshire Cat. "He doesn't control the universe."

"Just all of time," Danny muttered, desperate to keep Dan talking until he could come up with a plan to get Dan back in the Ghost Zone.

Dan snorted. "Time is an illusion created by the human mind. Thankfully, ghosts don't have human minds to worry about." His eyes ran around the edges of the dream catcher, and then – without any warning – tossed his two prisoners through the glowing weave.

"Wait!" Danny held out a hand, but it was too late.

Dash's scream cut off abruptly as he passed through the 'merge' side of the Ghost Catcher right next to the Box Ghost. They tumbled to the floor.

No, wait - he tumbled to the floor. Dash. The Box Ghost had vanished.

Danny took a halting step forwards, staring, his stomach sinking to his feet as he tried to think through what his parents' invention had just done. "Dash? Are you okay?"

The football jock looked up. Red, glowing eyes looked up at him. "I…" His face contorted in pain, his hands coming up to burrow into his hair. "I…"

"Dash?"

The red glow took over Dash's face, then flowed down his body. Dash floated up from the floor, a maniacal grin overtaking his face. "I am Dash Boxter! Beware!"

Danny had just enough time for his mouth to fall open in pure astonishment before the Dash-Box Ghost combination vanished through the ceiling. For a startled beat, Danny stared at the ceiling. Then he turned his gaze to Dan. "What did you do that for?"

"Testing it out." Dan shrugged and walked back around the Ghost Catcher to stare at the other side. "I didn't hurt him. I enhanced him – for all that he didn't deserve it."

"You can't just use humans as experiments!" Danny stalked forwards, grabbed Dan's shoulder, and twisted him around. "Not even Dash. You need to undo that!"

"You do it," Dan said dismissively. Throwing off Danny's hand, Dan turned back to the dream catcher. "I have plans."

"No. I'm not going to let you-"

It was too late. Dan had already stepped through 'separate' side of the dream catcher, falling to the ground as two ghosts. Both writhed in agony, muffled moans and groans of pain filling the air.

The more Vlad-looking one opened his eyes first, pain still etched on his face. Dark rings circled under red eyes with a lunatic grin. His hair swept up into horns, his fangs sharp and long. Plasmius unsteadily got to his feet. "That was fun."

Danny shivered, eyes wide, taking a step backwards. His brain was on overdrive, trying to figure out what to do. The Dash-Box Ghost thing was out ransacking the town, and now he had to deal with his freakish alternate-future self splitting in two? "Wha…?"

"Up," Plasmius snapped, kicking at the other comatose form.

This one looked strangely like Danny – thinner and leaner, with dangling white hair. Phantom rolled away from the kick before opening his eyes. They were green, with little flares of red slicing through them now and then. "Don't touch me," Phantom snapped, his voice a slightly lower and older parody of Danny's.

"We've been merged for years, and it was your plan to begin with," Plasmius sneered, pulling at his clothes and settling his cape around his shoulders. "Don't get touchy-feely on me now."

Danny knew he should do something. He couldn't just stand here with his mouth open and watch. This was bad. This had to be bad. Right?

"Rotten plan on my part," Phantom muttered, slowly getting to his feet. He was shorter than Plasmius by several inches. "I should have known nothing to do with you would ever go right."

Plasmius looked around. "Alternate timeline. Water under the bridge."

Danny finally found words. "You have to go back together again."

"Not a chance." The words were said simultaneously, and in the exact same tone. Phantom's eyes flickered red as he said that, then he glared at Plasmius and continued. "Insanity is not all it's cracked up to be."

"You can't… just…" Danny broke off. "This isn't your timeline. This isn't your world."

Plasmius shrugged. "Home is what you make of it." He walked around the lab, picking up various Fenton inventions.

"Don't touch that!" Danny flew over and snagged something from Plasmius's hands. He didn't bother to look to see what it was – he just knew he couldn't let this demented half-version of a defunct timeline have any of his parents' inventions.

"Possessive little cretin." Plasmius stared at him before turning on his heel and stalking away. "These were made by Jack Fenton. I highly doubt they work anyways."

Danny choked back an almost instinctive defense of his father, setting down the invention and following the half-a-ghost. "You two have to go back together. This isn't-"

A hand grabbed his arm, dragging him back. Danny twisted around, energy flaring, and found himself face-to-face with… himself. Himself but a few years older. "I'm not merging with him," Phantom said. The ghost's eyes were a pure, liquid green. "I made a mistake twenty years ago. I'm not making it twice."

Staring at his alternate future counter-part, Danny found himself not knowing what to say. He couldn't exactly disagree. "But-"

"But what?" Phantom said quietly. "This is my chance to fix my mistakes. I'm not letting you take that from me."

"Yes," Plasmius cut in, his voice like liquid butter, "don't take that from him." There was a dark chuckle. "You don't want to know what happens when you take things from him."

Danny's eyes flicked over to Plasmius, than back to his future ghost, a horrible feeling of dread filling his gut. Red flooded through Phantom's eyes – madness raced across his face – and then it was gone. Phantom blinked and shook his head, looking like he was trying to shake a thought loose from his mind. Then Phantom took a step backwards and vanished.

"No!" Danny stepped forwards, about to follow, when he caught sight of Plasmius still standing by the portal. Floating in mid-air, he debated following his might-be-insane counterpart or keeping track of a definitely-insane Plasmius standing in a lab full of next-generation, extremely dangerous inventions. Indecision kept him in place just long enough for Plasmius to start talking.

"Be careful." Plasmius had his arms crossed over his chest and was staring into the depths of the portal.

"Why?"

Plasmius looked over his shoulder. "I'm far from sane, child." His fangs glittered. "But at least I'm willing to acknowledge it." He turned around, leaning against the metal around the portal, and studied Danny. "What are you going to do?"

Danny, his own mind circling around that very question, found himself narrowing his eyes and tensing. "I-"

Without waiting to hear Danny's answer, Plasmius waved a dismissive hand. "That's what I thought. No plan at all."

"I didn't-"

"I've shared a mind with you for many years," Plasmius said, interrupting him. "I know how you think and I certainly don't need to sit around and wait for you to state the obvious. Would you like a suggestion?"

"No." Danny crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "I want you out of my parents' lab."

Plasmius shrugged and pushed away from the wall. "Very well, then. Do what you'd like."

Danny narrowed his eyes. "I will."

"Two heads are better than one, just keep that in mind. Divide and conquer - its the quickest way to obtain your goal." With a swirl of green mist, Plasmius stepped backwards into the portal and disappeared into the Ghost Zone.

Waiting a beat, Danny shook his head and pushed himself into the air. Hopefully it was better that the half-Plasmius was in the Ghost Zone - at least it momentarily took him off the list of people to chase down. He phased through the ceiling and the roof and took to the sky, eyes peeled for his two targets: one half-Dash half-Box Ghost creature, the other a half of himself from the future.

Danny shook his head and muttered, "I have a weird life," before taking off towards Sam's house and taking Plasmius's advice. Two heads were better than one. And if he could round up Sam and Tucker – he'd have three heads. Between the three of them, they'd be able to fix this.

He didn't give any thought to the fact that an incredibly powerful ghost, one that had taken over the human and ghost worlds in another time line, had just split itself in two on purpose. That one half was now in the human world and one half in the ghost world. That there was no more 'Dan' for Clockwork to control.

And that this wasn't happenstance – this had been a long dreamed up and well thought out plan.

Divide and conquer indeed.


	19. Lightbulb - Danny

Lightbulb

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

Fentonworks was well known for its ghost weaponry. If someone wanted to take down a ghost - any ghost, of any shape, size, designation, or energy level - Fentonworks would have (or would make) a weapon for you. They were world leaders in weapons technology, and even the government was known to camp on their doorstep, waiting for the latest installment of Fentontech.

What few people outside the realm of 'ghost research' realized was that the Fentons did more than just design supernatural weapons. They were also highly interested in the ghosts themselves, and had invented dozens of devices to study, attract, or learn about the ghosts and ectoplasm. And, sometimes, the Fentons built things just to see if theycould.

When Danny wandered downstairs one day, fighting off a headache from a long day of school, he stepped right into his parents doing just that - building something simply for the sake of finding out if it would work. "Hey, Mom? Dad?" Danny asked, leaning up against one of the lab tables.

His mother looked up, pushing her goggles up to her forehead. "Sweetie! How was your day?"

"Excellent," Danny ground out, unwilling to discuss the two ghosts, the math test, or the fight he'd gotten into with Sam. Apparently she'd been expecting him to ask her out to the dance this weekend - which Danny hadn't - regardless of whether or not Danny had even planned on going - which he also hadn't. "What are you doing?" he asked, wrinkling his forehead at the odd-looking device currently spread out on the lab table. It certainly didn't look anything like normal Fentontech.

"We're building a new lightbulb!" his father said brightly, grinning and holding out a soldering gun. "Wanna help?"

Danny arched an eyebrow and shook his head. He didn't like helping on a normal day, much less a day like today had been. "Don't we already have lightbulbs?" he had to ask.

"Well, yeah," Jack said, frowning. "But this is a ghost lightbulb."

Scanning the table, Danny was able to pick up various pieces that he recognized from what used to be the living room lamp. There was a stand, a heat-lamp style light, and plenty of wires and switches. "How's it different from a normal lightbulb?" He scratched the back of one leg with his foot.

"Normal lightbulbs give off visible radiation. This lightbulb will give off ectoplasmic radiation!" Maddie smirked and held up the thing that looked like a heat lamp. "We obviously won't be able to see it, since we're human-"

Danny stared at his parents. "Then… what's the point?"

She held up a finger, forestalling any further questions. "The point is…" she trailed off, her forehead wrinkling, and turned to her husband. "Why did you want to build this?"

"It'll be perfect," Jack replied, gesturing wildly with the hot soldering gun. "We'll have an endless source of ectoplasmic radiation that we can tune to whatever frequency or energy level we want. It'll be exactly what we need to test the more sensitive sensors."

Maddie smiled and laid a hand on her husband's arm. "Exactly. It'll be exactly what we need for the next stage in our radar system." She turned to Danny. "What did you need, Sweetie?"

"D'you know when supper's going to be?"

She glanced up at the clock. "Probably not for a few more hours. Are you hungry?"

Danny shrugged. He was always hungry. Ever since the accident, rarely an hour passed where Danny didn't feel the urge to find something to eat. He'd mostly learned to ignore the sensation, although he did find himself eating a lot more than usual. Five or six large meals in a day wasn't unheard of for him. Yet the doctor had proclaimed him as underweight and almost malnourished.

"Why don't you grab yourself a snack, and I'll get supper started in a bit," she said pleasantly. "As soon as I get the wiring done."

"Sure," Danny said, watching as she pulled her goggles back over her eyes and got back to work. He stood there for a few minutes, tracing the wiring with his eyes, then sulked upstairs to make himself a triple-decker sandwich. "Kinda a stupid invention," he muttered when the kitchen door swung closed behind him. "Ghosts don't needlightbulbs."

* * *

The third ghost of the day attacked just before midnight. It was a smallish thing that looked something like a overgrown squirrel. The creepy ghost had lead Danny on a wild goose-chase all over the town, climbing on buildings like they were trees and proving it didn't just look like a squirrel, but acted like one too. It had taken him almost two hours to corner the thing and suck it into the thermos.

"God, I'm tired," Danny groused, dropping through Fentonworks and landing in the basement. He plodded over to the portal and dumped the squirrel back into the ghost world, turning back into his human form with a rush of energy. "Did you have to let the ghosts through at night?"

The portal didn't bother to answer.

"Some day I'm going to figure out how to lock you so the ghosts stay out," Danny told it, wiggling his now-empty thermos in the portal's general direction. "Maybe con my parents into stop building stupid inventions like lightbulbs and make something useful."

With nothing but silence coming from the hulking piece of technology, Danny turned to slink back towards his bedroom. He could easily get another four or five hours of solid sleep, if only he could get his head to hit the pillow. About halfway back to the stairs, Danny felt something odd. He stopped, tilting his head to the side, examining the feeling.

Warmth. A strange sort of peacefulness. Sort of the feeling of curling up under a blanket on a cold day, mixed with lying on the beach in the summer with nothing to do and no place to go.

"What the…" Danny slowly twisted in place, looking around at the dark, shadowy technology in his parents' basement. Holding out his hand, he felt around for the source of the warmth. Finding it coming from his right, Danny slowly moved forwards, shuffling his feet to keep from tripping on the technology scattered on the floor, holding out his fingers until they brushed over the source of the warmth.

This close, the feeling was even stronger. Danny grinned, running his fingers over the smooth surface of the device emitting the warmth and happy feelings. It was only then that he thought of his phone, pulling it out and turning on the light.

There, standing in front of him on a stand, was his parents' ghost lightbulb. Danny studied it for a second, then shrugged. "I guess it does work," he murmured. "Still kinda stupid, though."

It wasn't until Danny turned to the stairs and stepped out of the light's reach that he realized something. Outside the influence of the light, he felt the gnawing feeling of hunger in his stomach. Taking a few slow steps backwards, back into the light's reach, Danny stopped. There, under the light, the feeling was gone. He wasn't hungry.

"Weird," he whispered. He stood in the basement, sort of trapped within the light's sphere of influence, studying the thing carefully. "How are you doing that?"

Then he yawned, his body reminding him that it was the middle of the night and he'd had a long day. He took a step towards the stairs, intending on heading to bed, but stopped and looked back. The light felt warm. Somehow, the light was keeping him from feeling hungry. He didn't really want to leave it just yet.

He glanced around the empty lab, feeling a bit guilty about what he was about to do. Then he unplugged the lamp from the wall and silently carted it up to his bedroom. Plugging it back in, crossing his fingers that it still worked, Danny grinned when the warm, peaceful feeling slid back through him. He secreted the lamp in the far corner of his room, determined that he would hide it better the next day, and then curled up on his bed and fell asleep.

* * *

Danny normally had to drag himself out of bed in the mornings, generally to the pounding and obnoxious voices of his sister or parents. The next morning, however, Danny woke up feeling refreshed and wide awake. He lay in bed, watching the time on his alarm clock tick away the last few minutes before it would have normally gone off.

He killed the buzzed almost instantly and rolled to his feet, snagging his clothes and making it to the bathroom before his sister for once. He found he had plenty of time to eat breakfast - which was much more of a pleasant meal when one wasn't starvingly hungry from not eating all night - and even left some milk in the bottom of the bowl. For the first time since the accident, Danny put his bowl in the sink after just one helping of cereal, rather than polishing off two.

"You're in a really good mood," his mother commented, looking up from her coffee.

Danny shrugged. "I slept good."

"That's really good," she said with a smile. "Your father's in a mood, though."

Danny kept his wince to himself. His dad was 'in a mood' because someone had stolen his brand-new lightbulb the previous night. The man was currently going over every inch of the lab in search of 'spectral evidence', convinced a ghost had stolen it. Danny figured his father wasn't too wrong, although he did feel pretty guilty about just taking something his parents had worked on all day.

But he wasn't returning the light. Not if it made all his mornings like this. "I gotta get to school," he said, snagging his bag.

"You don't normally leave for another twenty minutes," his mother said.

"I got stuff to do before school," Danny lied, simply wanting to get away from his parents and the guilty feeling welling up in his chest. "Maybe he can build another one? Lock this one up, or something?"

"We'll see," came the answer as he pushed out the door and let it slam shut behind him.

* * *

Danny felt excellent for almost the entire day - beyond being annoyed at Sam for not letting the dance thing drop and giving him the cold shoulder. It wasn't until his sixth period class that he started to feel the strain of the day wear on him. Hunger pulled at his stomach and little tendrils of cold started to creep back into his brain.

When the final bell rang, Danny begged his way out of an invite to Tucker's house and practically flew back to his house. He avoided his parents - they were probably in the lab - and threw his backpack in the corner of his room.

Already he could feel it. The warmth and peacefulness soothing away the day's aches and the growing sense of hunger. Danny dropped onto his bed, lying on his back and staring up at the light. "I think you're one of my parents' best inventions," he informed the bit of glass and metal.

It wasn't even a half-hour and Danny was feeling back to normal. He pulled his homework over and hurried through it, finding the lack of hunger, cold, and stress to be conducive to getting his work done. Long before supper, he was done and staring out the window.

He hadn't felt this good since… ever. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt this good as a normal human, much less as a ghost-human hybrid. His brain was working right. His body was working right. He wasn't hungry and stressed all the time.

Even though it had been less than a day, Danny couldn't imagine going back to living how he had before. This was just so much better. And all because of a stupid lightbulb.

Coming to a decision, Danny rolled to his feet and walked over to the where the light was half-hidden in the corner of his room. His parents were generally oblivious of anything in his room, but they wouldn't miss seeing this forever. Eventually his mom would come into clean and she'd see it, and then it would be gone and Danny would have some careful explaining to do. If he wanted to keep it, he'd have to hide it better.

Danny stared at it for the longest time. This sort of thing was not his forte. Sam was better at this, but Sam was currently having a fit and was out of the picture. Tipping his head side to side, Danny tried to imagine different ways of making it look not like a lamp.

It wasn't until he actually turned himself upside down, floating in the air with his hair dangling and touching the bed, that Danny saw an opportunity. Upside down, the heat-lamp style light looked a lot like a UFO. And a UFO would fit perfectly into the mess that was his bedroom.

Danny unscrewed the base of the lamp and pulled the wires through, leaving the lightbulb to dangle from its cord. Some glue and lost parts from a model airplane gave the outside of the light a bit of an 'alien spacecraft' feel, then a coat of model paint to make it look like a UFO and not a lightbulb with bits of model parts glued to it. Holding it up by the cord, Danny grinned, pleased with himself.

He dangled it from a hook in his ceiling over his bed, plugged the cord back in, and lay there, staring up at his new UFO. The light still seemed to work just fine. "Perfect," he said.

When his parents called him down to eat, Danny found himself feeling full after just one normal-sized portion of food. He hadn't snacked all day. He sat at the table, grinning to himself over how normal he felt for once, listening to his dad jabber on and on about the 'lightbulb version two' that had just finished coming together, although this one had some sort of convoluted name to 'keep the ghosts from figuring out what it was and stealing it again'.

Excusing himself from the table, Danny went out on patrol with Tucker that evening, feeling more refreshed and full of energy than he ever had. He laughed and pulled barrel rolls and even had Tucker commenting on his good mood. The only ghost they scared up wasn't even a challenge. Danny enjoyed chasing it across town, feeling almost like a cat playing with a mouse, before finally scooping it up in the thermos.

* * *

Over the next few days, Danny continued to feel excellent. Finally, he could eat normally. Finally, he could sleep through the night. Finally, he wasn't constantly fighting off aches and pains and headaches. And it was all due to the lightbulb.

It was five days after Danny had 'borrowed' the invention from his parents that Danny wandered back down into the basement. His mother was working on something-or-other, but Danny didn't particularly care to find out what it was. "Hey, Mom?"

She blinked up at him. "Hm?"

"Can I ask you a question about that lightbulb you made?" Danny scratched at the back of his neck. "I was just thinking about it… and I was wondering…"

"Sure," she said, going back to soldering little wires together.

"Why would a ghost steal it? I mean, it's just a lightbulb…"

A smile pulled at the corners of her lips. "Well, it depends on if our theory about ghosts is correct."

There was long beats of silence as Danny waited for her to elaborate. Surely she wasn't expecting him to have paid attention well enough to understand what that meant. Finally he gave in and spoke. "Meaning…?"

"Current theory goes that ghosts are something like plants."

Danny snorted. "They don't look like plants, or act like them."

"No," she said, momentarily sticking her tongue between her teeth as she concentrated on a small solder joint. "Not in how they look, but in how they feed. Plants feed off the radiant energy from the sun. Jack and I figure that ghosts feed of the radiant energy of the ghost world. Perhaps there's even a sun equivalent there we haven't discovered yet."

Danny tried to piece that together. "So… the lightbulb is giving off ghost-food."

She chuckled softly. "Sort of." Looking up at him, she smiled. "So a ghost living in this world would slowly starve, without that source of energy. Any of the ghosts that make this world their home would be attracted to that lightbulb - and would definitely want to steal it. It's a food source for them, beyond eating other ghosts or going back to the ghost world from time to time."

"Oh."

"But don't worry, Sweetie," she continued. "Jack and I have the house built up enough that the ghosts can't get in and steal anything else."

"I'm not worried," Danny said. "Just curious."

She nodded, still smiling. The corners of her eyes crinkled. "Anything else?"

"No, not really. Thanks." He took a few steps backwards, waited until her attention was focused back on her invention, then headed back upstairs to his room. Lying on his bed, Danny stared up at his UFO-light.

No wonder he wasn't hungry all the time. The light was actually feeding his ghost side. Putting his hands behind his head, Danny yawned and let his eyes fall part of the way closed. A mid-afternoon nap sounded like a great idea. He was warm and peaceful and not at all starving. "Maybe it's not such a stupid invention after all," he murmured sleepily.


	20. Scar - Maddie, Danny

Scar

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

The storm was getting bad enough that Maddie was considering heading home – interesting ghost readings or otherwise. Lightning crisscrossed overhead, wind shook the RV with each blast, and thunder rolled and droned.

She reached down to fiddle with the newest Fentonworks gadget: a powerful ghost signature analyzer. According to the readings, the ghost she was chasing was not only powerful, it was everywhere - almost like she was driving though the ghost.

A larger blast of wind had her looking up, craning to look through the RV's windshield. Dark clouds boiled. Wind whipped. Something green flared overhead. Maddie squinted, stopping the RV so she could stand up and look more carefully. Through the madly-moving wiper blades and the splattering raindrops, she could barely see the ghost boy racing through the sky.

"Is he insane?" Maddie whispered. Lightning danced around, seeming to actually chase the young ghost around.

That thought made Maddie wonder if the storm itself wasn't a ghost. That would explain their readings, and how the lightning seemed to be following-

A huge flash of light slammed into the ghost boy. Maddie winced, blinking back little dots of light that floated in her vision. Crackling with electricity, the ghost fell. Maddie watched, keeping track of where the ghost hit.

Putting the RV back into gear, she drove through the raging storm. The wind seemed to pick up around her as she got nearer to the ghost boy – it felt like the storm was trying to prevent her from getting too close.

She would have driven past the fallen ghost, hidden behind a bush in a yard, if not for the electricity curling around the ghost's body now and then. She stopped the RV, grabbed her ectoweapon and her portable ghost analyzer, and reached for the door and stepped into the rain.

Moving around the large bush revealed a horrible sight: a huge section of the ghost's back had been burned away, leaving a strange forking pattern that reached from right shoulder to his left hip. The only signs of life were small twitches of his arms and legs. Cautious, she crept closer, the ghost analyzer in her hand momentarily forgotten. It wasn't until she was practically on top of him that she heard the pain-filled sounds the boy was making.

Kneeling down, her hand hovered over his unharmed shoulder, debating what to do. Leave him? Analyze him here? Bring him home to experiment on? The wind howled around her. Lighting crashed into a nearby tree, the thunderous noise making her jump.

"That was too close," she breathed. Maddie knew she couldn't stay – not just for a few readings. She stood up, about to head back to the RV, then hesitated.

The ghost boy was doomed if she left him here. Another lightning strike would disintegrate what was left of the boy's ectosigature. And she really wanted to find out what made this ghost different from the others.

Without another thought, she stooped, grabbed the ghost's arm, and dragged him to the RV. Hail started to pelt down, rattling against her skull. Yanking the side door open, she jumped inside and pulled the ghost in with her. It wasn't until she had the door closed, safe from the lightning and storm, that she rolled the ghost over onto his stomach and off those terrific wounds.

The ghost was out cold. Beyond little twitches of his fingers and the steady rise and fall of his chest, there was nothing. Dark, bubbling, burnt ectoplasm oozed and misted from the laceration. Maddie sat there, watching, not entirely sure what she was going to do now that she had her prize in hand.

The RV shook in a sudden gust of wind. The storm wasn't happy about its prize being taken. Maddie looked out the windshield, spotting the heavy hail smacking against the glass, and knew she had to get home before it got worse. She stared down at the ghost, debated throwing him back out into the storm, then gritted her teeth and got back behind the driver's seat.

The few minutes it took to get home were a white-knuckled drive through a storm just a step below tornado. The RV was buffeted back and forth across the street. Leaves and sticks and rocks were thrown in her path.

Pulling into her driveway was a relief. She drove right onto the grass, getting within inches of the overhang on the backdoor. Popping the door open, she dashed into the house. "JACK!" she called.

The power was out. Maddie flicked the switch a few times anyways. "Jack?"

Footsteps, sounding like coming up from the basement. Jack burst into the kitchen, flashlight in hand. "Mads!" he said, peering out through the windows. Then he paused. "Wow, you parked close."

"Help me," she said, heading back to the back door.

Jack followed, eyes widening in surprise and delight when he saw the ghost lying comatose on the RV floor. He winced when he caught sight of the wound on his back. "Ouch."

"The lightning got him," Maddie said. "Let's get him inside."

Jack peered up at the storm, whistled softly, then scooped up the ghost and headed back into the house. "The emergency generator kicked in for the lab," he said, carrying the comatose spook through the house and towards the basement steps. "If we get him down there, we'll be able to see what's going on better."

The wind rattled the windows of the house. Maddie hesitated as she walked into the kitchen. The small weather radio was set up in the table, blaring information to the world. Thick tones, followed by a brain-rattling buzzing. Severe storm warning. Seek shelter immediately. Basement. Away from windows. Funnel clouds spotted in the area. Damaging hail. High winds.

She hadn't realized the storm had gotten so bad. Her fingers twitched, debating reaching for the radio to bring it with into the basement, but decided it would get no reception in the heavily fortified basement. Even as she pulled her hand back, sirens started to sound throughout the city.

The radio made a thick, ringing noise. Tornado on the ground, northwest corner of Amity Park, headed west. Maddie's mouth went dry as she realized how close it was.

The storm was a ghost. She'd taken its prize. Now the storm was coming for it. No doubt Fentonworks was right in that tornado's crosshairs. Like a bucket of cold water, she realized just what havoc she'd brought upon her family by picking up the ghost boy ten minutes ago.

Too late to do anything about it, she raced to the basement door. "Jack! Tornado!" she called down the steps, then spun on her heel and flew up the stairs. "Danny!"

His room was empty. So was Jazz's, and theirs, and the upstairs bedroom. Maddie stood at the top of the stairs, looking around and hoping that Danny was at one of his friends' homes and safe, before catching sight of darkness through a window. Blacks and grays and flashes of brilliant, supernatural green. She raced for the basement, the front windows of the house smashing into slivers just as she got the basement door closed, the sound of the RV being thrown through the back wall a split-second later.

She hurried down the steps. There were horrific crashing noises overhead. Maddie looked up, wondering how badly her home was being destroyed, then jumped the last few steps. Jack was huddled under one of their thick, metal tables, the ghost boy tucked in his arms. Maddie skidded across the floor and took a spot next to him.

"This storm came up fast," Jack said, wincing as a particularly loud crashing noise made the lab vibrate.

"Where's Danny?"

"Sam's," Jack answered. He was peering down at the ghost in his arms, studying the thick burn along the boy's back. Like most ghosts, the wound was already starting to seal over – several days worth of healing condensed into fifteen minutes. "Glad you made it home alright."

Maddie stared up at the ceiling, worried about her son and desperately praying he was safe. She shivered as the lab shook. With all the reinforcing they'd done to the lab over the years, they should be safe from anything short of a direct hit from a bomb. The tornado could sit overhead and howl its impotent fury. Little flickers and flashes of green against the metal showed that the backup ghost shield was in place around the basement. No storm – ghost or otherwise – was going to get through.

Then the ghost coughed. It was a weak, pain-filled sound, followed almost instantly by a sharp gasp. A foot caught Maddie roughly in the side as Jack grabbed onto the boy to keep him from flailing and hurting himself further.

"Stop moving," Jack said, holding the boy's shoulders against the ground.

The ghost was shaking, eyes clenched closed, painful noises working their way out of his mouth.

Maddie ground her teeth, thinking it would have been better if the ghost had remained unconscious until the storm was over.

"Where am I?" the ghost hissed, green eyes flicking open just long enough to take in their faces.

"Our lab," Jack answered. "You're hurt."

The ghost tried to pull away from the man, but ended up yelping in pain and falling still. "No shit," the ghost whispered. "Never would have guessed I was hurt. Can you do me a huge favor and not experiment on me until I feel better?"

Maddie scooted closer. "What can you tell us about this ghost?"

"What ghost?" Phantom said. He blinked his eyes open. They were flickering like lightning and tearing from the pain. He carefully rolled onto his side, then arched his head around just enough to take in the mess his back had become.

"The tornado currently destroying Amity Park."

Phantom looked at her blankly for a long second before comprehension flooded onto his face. His eyes went wide in terror. "Oh, God, Vortex." He tried to push himself to his feet, only to end up falling on the ground.

A particularly loud smashing noise from overhead caught everyone's attention. Maddie glanced up as the lights shook and little bits of dust floated down around them. With that noise, she was well and sure her house was nothing but splinters. "Is that the ghost's name? Vortex?"

With a nod, the ghost boy stared up at the ceiling. "I gotta…" Then he looked over at them. "I need to stop it. You need to help me, or he's going to kill everyone."

"You'll need to tell us more about him," Jack said, sounding all business as he scooted out from under the protection of the table and started to scavenge through the lab. Whatever animosity had been between the ghost and the two humans was set aside to deal with this torrential threat. "Type, power level, weaknesses-"

Phantom coughed and his eyes closed. He breathed deeply through his mouth a few times. "Mental note: don't cough. That hurts more than anything."

"Focus," Maddie chided. "Storm."

There was an emptiness in his eyes for a just a moment before catching on. "Oh yeah," he muttered. "Storm. Um…"

Maddie glanced over at Jack. Was this the ghost's normal conversational mode? Or was it possible for a ghost to get a concussion?

"He's an Ancient. You know, one of the super powerful ones like Clockwork and Pandora?" Phantom scowled and waved his hand. "He's supposed to have some sort of control on him to keep him from destroying everything."

"It's missing?" Maddie guessed. At Phantom's nod, Maddie sighed. "So it's a super-powerful ghost that can control the weather."

"Worse," Phantom said, managing to roll himself back onto his stomach and get himself propped up on his elbows. "The ghost is the weather."

Jack was back, crouching next to them. "Makes it sort of hard to fight," the man commented.

The storm was still crashing overhead. She looked up as the lights flickered. "I don't think the storm is moving passed us," she said. "It's just sitting there."

"I sorta ticked it off," Phantom said. "It's probably trying to get at me."

"So we should just toss you back out there," Jack said blandly.

Phantom stared at Jack with a look of such complete betrayal that it made Maddie pause. "Jack," she said, trying to get them back on track. The man blinked at her, then grinned and held up something. It was a beaker full of a glowing substance that made Maddie arch an eyebrow. "Your Ecto-dejecto?"

"It never did what I wanted it to," Jack said, "but it should work for this."

"Work for what?" Phantom asked. He was eying the beaker skeptically.

Maddie frowned, catching on to Jack's plan. "Jack, I'm not sure that's a great idea. We've never tried using it like that."

"Tried what?" Phantom turned his gaze from the beaker to her. "Maddie?"

"It'll work," Jack insisted.

"What'll work?" Phantom's voice was annoyed. "Would you stop talking over my head like I'm not here, please?"

Maddie grabbed the beaker. "The Ecto-dejecto should cause your ectoplasm to accelerate its healing." She frowned, tipping the specially-modified ectoplasm from side to side and watching it stick to the glass sides of the beaker.

"How fast?" the ghost asked. When she looked up at him, he was peering at her seriously.

With a bit of thought, Maddie said, "I wouldn't know for sure, but best guess? A few minutes."

Phantom shifted and hissed in pain. The roar of the storm was loud overhead. There was no way this was a natural tornado – it had been hanging over their house for nearly ten minutes now. "Do it," he said.

"We don't know the side effects-" Jack started.

"Got any other ideas?" Phantom interrupted, his teeth gritted and steal in his jaw. Green glowed deep in his eyes, flickering and pulsing like heat lightning in the distance. "People are getting hurt and – like it or not – I'm their best chance."

Maddie couldn't help by agree. With proper planning and setup, there wasn't a ghost in the world that could stand against the might of Fentonworks at its best. But with this powerful of a ghost that came out of the blue? Phantom was their best option. Left to heal on his own, the ghost would be out of commission for days. Still, she hesitated.

Phantom stared at her. The green of his eyes misted and curled. Laying there, clearly in pain, he looked so very, very young.

Then she ground her teeth and slunk out from under the table just long enough to grab one of the squirt bottles. Getting back under the safety of the table, she poured the liquid in and screwed the top back on. "I don't know how much this is going to hurt…"

"Ghosts don't feel pain, remember?" Phantom said, screwing his eyes shut and curling his fingers into fists. "Just do it."

Fingers tightening on the bottle, she squirted a fine mist across the ghost's back. The wound bubbled and hissed and the ghost twisted and bucked and screamed. It wasn't a sound like anything Maddie had ever heard before. It made the entire lab shake and her hands were up over her ears without conscious thought.

Jack had grabbed the ghost and was holding him down. As the sound trailed off, Maddie grabbed the bottle she'd dropped and peered down at the ghost's back. There was definite improvement. The wound that had been sprayed had sealed. Phantom was still twitching and whimpering in pain.

"Hold him still," Maddie said.

Jack looked up at her, then set his jaw and nodded. Holding a ghost still would be a tall order – even for someone like Jack and a small, slight ghost like Phantom. This would have to be fast and thorough.

"Three, two-" Jack counted. Maddie watched the ghost tense.

She squeezed the trigger. Again and again and again, as fast as she could, covering every inch of the wound. The ghost's reaction was horrible. He kicked Jack away, knocked over the bench, and ended up curled in a shaking pile nearly on the other side of the lab. A keening noise filled the lab – a sound that made Maddie's nose start to bleed.

Reaching up a hand to stem the flow, Maddie set down her bottle and walked over to check on Jack. A broken leg, for sure. The arm possibly too, but the way Jack was holding it. Then she cautiously approached the ghost.

His back was fully healed – but a thick, twisting scar stretched across his skin like tree branches. The shaking had gone down to occasional shivers that wracked his body.

"Phantom?" she whispered.

Very slowly, the ghost rolled onto his back and stared up at her. His eyes were empty and blank – nothing but green. The human-like pupils and sclera she'd seen before were gone in a wash of ectoplasm. Then he blinked and his eyes were back to normal, although filled with painful tears. "Ow," he breathed.

She didn't want to touch him. Lying on the floor like this, sprawled out and in agony, he looked like a little child. She didn't want to think about how much pain he was in – how much pain she'd caused this child. "How are you feeling?"

"Ow," he repeated, a little more forcefully. A particularly loud crash of thunder upstairs made him wince and slowly sit up. "It still hurts, but at least I can move." His eyes trailed over to Jack and widened considerably. "Jack? Are you okay?"

Jack huffed from his spot, holding one of his arms carefully and trying not to move his leg. "You kick hard," he grunted.

A new kind of pain spiraled through the ghost's face. "I…" he trailed off, then slowly got to his feet. The world must have spun on him because he grabbed for a table to keep from falling. By the time he got himself steady, Maddie had moved back over to Jack's side. "Sorry," he finally finished.

"Not your fault," Jack said. "What's the plan?"

Phantom walked over, slightly unsteadily, and crouched down beside them. "I stop the ghost."

Maddie shot him a look. "Great plan," she said. "How well did that work the first time?"

The ghost scowled. "Do you have some sort of handy-dandy-makes-ghosts-more-powerful weapon sitting around I could borrow? 'Cause if not, I'm not sure what else-" He stopped as Maddie and Jack grinned. "What?"

"It wasn't supposed to work the way it does," Jack said as Maddie reached for a nearby box and pulled out a strange-looking set of bracelets. "It was supposed to be a controlling device."

"How does it work?"

Maddie held out the silver and green circles. They weren't much thicker around than a wire, with small bead-like sections here and there to hold power cells and control chips. "We put these on you. We turn them all the way up and you should have a considerable power increase. And, if you can get another pair on this storm ghost, we should be able to turn the power levels down on that ghost."

Phantom studied her. "And you'll take them back off me?"

Maddie pressed her lips together, uncertain what to say to that. Even with their temporary alliance, he was still a ghost. And a dangerous one. The ability to have some sort of control over him wasn't something they could afford to pass up.

"Yeah," Phantom whispered. He reached for one of the bracelets and ran it through his fingers. "Thought so." Then he sighed and held it out. "Put them on."

She didn't move for a long moment. Thunder roared overhead and the lights flickered. The generator was running low on power from the constant drain of the ghost attacking overhead. They had minutes – at best.

Phantom's wrists were held out in front of him like some sort of criminal waiting for handcuffs. And again, just for a second, she couldn't get passed how young he looked. Then she steeled herself and clamped a band around each of his wrists. The ghost winced, pulling away from her and rubbing his wrists.

"Ready?" she asked, grabbing for the remote. "These are for the storm ghost, if you can catch him. Even if you can just get one on him, it'll help." She held out the other set of bands. The ghost took them and nodded. "Jack'll turn off the ghost shield for just long enough for you to get through."

"Perfect," the ghost said. He got to his feet, hooked the two bands onto his belt, and bounced lightly on his toes. "Turn it on."

Touching a few buttons made the lights flicker to life on the remote and on the ghost's new bracelets. She slowly twisted the dial up.

Phantom's aura flickered and steamed and glowed. Lightning flooded through his eyes. "Oh, wow," Phantom said. His voice was scattered and echoing. When he moved, it seemed to be in short little bursts – like he was moving too fast for them to see properly. "Yeah, I can handle this."

"I don't know how long your energy will last," Jack cut in. "Try to make this quick."

"Got it," Phantom said, still bouncing on his toes. "Shield?"

"On the count of three," Maddie said. "One. Two. Three-"

The shield went down and Phantom vanished. Jack waited a harrowing two seconds before putting the shield back in place. It flickered and came back with an unsteady glow. "Power level is less than fifteen percent."

"So we just have to wait," Maddie said.

Jack nodded. Maddie settled down next to him, listening to the thunder roar overhead and imagining what sort of carnage had been wrought on their neighborhood.

Then the sounds stopped. Maddie and Jack sat still, looking upwards. "That's either good or bad," Jack said.

Maddie nodded a quiet agreement, looking down at the remote in her hands. The lights were still on – Phantom hadn't been disintegrated, at the very least. The second set of lights hadn't come on. Phantom hadn't placed them on the storm ghost. "There's only one way to find out," she said quietly.

Giving her husband a quick kiss, Maddie walked across the lab and slowly mounted the stairs. The thick lab door looked battered and dented, but it was still in place. Light – sunlight, probably – shone around the edges. She hesitated at the door, watching the ghost shield flicker over the metal. Then she threw the locks on the door and pulled. The door swung inwards with a sharp groan of protest.

Sunlight streamed down on her. Taking a few hesitant steps forwards, Maddie couldn't help but notice that her home was gone. A few boards here and there – part of a wall leaning against the fortified entrance of the lab – a dish lying on the ground by her feet. The old tree in the backyard was missing, only a bit of stump left to show it was ever there. The neighbors weren't in any better shape. In fact, it was several blocks before Maddie could see anything but empty lots.

Their homes weren't just destroyed – they were gone.

And then a flash of green. Maddie blinked and took a step backwards. Phantom was there, looking agitated, moving in that strange, swift way. A dented, cracked thermos was in his hands. "Take these off," he demanded, thrusting out his wrists.

When Maddie hesitated – still too stunned by the destruction to be thinking properly – Phantom moved closer. The quick flash-step made Maddie jump.

"These things are draining me. They're going to kill me," he said, his voice jumping around in a strange way that made his words almost unintelligible. "Take them off, take them off."

She fumbled for the remote in her pocket and turned down the dial, resetting the bracelets back to normal. The ghost sagged and collapsed in front of her. Maddie stared at him, then back up at the destruction, then reached down to pick up the thermos. She could feel the ghost churning around inside the dented metal.

"Gotta get rid of him," Phantom muttered.

Maddie jerked. She hadn't realized the ghost was still conscious. But then she scowled at herself – ghosts don't have the ability to be unconscious. The thermos jerked in her hands and a new crack appeared.

"It's not going to hold for long. If he gets free again, we're doomed." Phantom tried to get to his hands and knees, but failed. His face was extremely pale and his hair was sticking to his skin. The scar on his back was red and raw and looked ready to split open again.

Sirens. Flashing lights in the distance. This would be ground zero in minutes as first responders descended on the worst of the damage to hunt for survivors.

Maddie hesitated only a second more before throwing the thermos's strap over her shoulder and grabbing the ghost. Phantom protested the movement with a loud moan of pain, but Maddie ignored him. The last thing she needed was for the local authorities to find a ghost in the middle of all the carnage. Between Fentonwork's reputation and their lackluster insurance plan, they needed zero rumors about what might have caused this chaos. "Come on," she said, hauling him to the remains of the basement lab door and dragging him bodily down the steps.

"Mads!" Jack called when he heard her clomping down the steps.

"Everything's gone," Maddie said, setting the groaning ghost on the ground and hurrying over to the portal. It took only a few seconds to dump the storm into the ghost zone. "Nothing but foundations for blocks."

Jack looked pale. "And Phantom?"

"Got the ghost in the thermos," she said. She walked over to check on Jack before heading back over to the ghost. "And now…" she hesitated. Phantom looked completely unconscious. But that should be impossible in a ghost. She leaned down and shook the ghost's shoulder. Nothing.

Remembering the ghost's mutter that the bands were going to kill him – inane thought in a ghost, but worrisome nonetheless – Maddie reached down and pulled the bracelets off the ghost's wrists. She hadn't really wanted to remove them, but this ghost was too interesting to allow to be destroyed.

Removing the bands seemed to do absolutely nothing. She sat back on her heels and scowled, then got up to find a containment device to put the ghost boy in for now. She wanted the ghost out of the way when the authorities arrived to take Jack to the hospital.

A brilliant flash of white light lit up the lab. Maddie twisted back around in time to see the glow encase the ghost and then dim. And then…

And then…

And then time seemed to stop. Maddie stood there, completely lost, staring at the spot where the ghost had been. Where a familiar-looking boy with black hair now lay. But that wasn't possible. How was that possible?

"Mads? What was that?" Jack's voice broke her from her stupor.

The overturned table was in the way; Jack couldn't see the boy. The ghost. Her son?

Maddie let the things in her hands fall to the ground and she walked back to the ghost. The boy. Her son. And stood there.

She couldn't reach down to touch him. She didn't want to know if this was real. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.

But it was. This was her Danny. And his shirt was destroyed enough that the huge scar on his back was visible. And two puffy red rings around his wrists from where the bands had been. And white in his hair. Little flecks of it, here and there, like lightning in the night. Or stars in the sky.

Slowly she sank down next to him. Then reached out a hand and traced along his face. "Danny?" she whispered.

He rolled onto his back when she touched his shoulder, but he didn't wake. His face was pale and drawn. There was a frailness and a paper-like quality to his skin that had the hairs raising on the back of Maddie's neck. "Danny," she whispered again.

"Anyone down here?" came a shout.

Maddie couldn't find her voice – the world was getting blurry. But Jack did. "Yes!" Jack shouted.

There were footsteps on the stairs. Then hands reaching for her son, checking his vital signs. Someone on a radio, calling for an ambulance.

Maddie sat with her son and husband on the way to the hospital, which had survived most of the damage. Danny went in immediately, but Jack sat around for hours with nothing but a couple of pills to keep him company. They watched the news broadcast of the disaster on the small television screen. Seeing it from a helicopter's perspective was startling.

Almost nothing was damaged outside a six-block radius of their home. Anything closer was simply gone. Like a bulls-eye painted with destruction, a huge swath of Amity Park had been wiped from the map like it never existed. Dozens missing – many of them presumed dead. Swept away with their homes.

Then there was the video feed of the storm. The tornado, glowing eerily against the backdrop. Then a streak of green as Phantom appeared from nowhere. Lightning. Brilliant flashes of light that would have made the image all but impossible to make out, except for the diligent young minds in the news station's tech department that took still shots and enhanced them so the audience could see what had happened. The lighting had all centered on Phantom, chasing him across the sky. He'd been struck by it. Again and again and again.

Each time, Phantom's glow had brightened. Jack muttered something about the bands perhaps absorbing most of the energy. Maddie didn't say anything. She just watched as the ghost blasted the storm with energy again and again - then sucked the entire tornado into a tiny thermos, leaving nothing but clear skies.

Jack talked about how it was possible. The science behind it. The words were a soothing counterpoint to Maddie's thoughts. All she could remember was the pain on Phantom's face. The screams of agony. The way he had looked at her – so young, so vulnerable, so desperately needing to help.

By the time Jack got his broken leg and arm set and they were allowed to see Danny, the doctors still didn't know why he was unconscious. In the two days it took Danny to wake up, they didn't ever figure it out. The red faded around his wrists. The hollowness left his skin. The angry look to the burn-like scar on his back dwindled away, although the scar itself never faded.

Maddie held Danny's hand tightly when he finally opened his eyes. Blue, although little lightning bolts of green danced through them when she looked closely. "Ow," he muttered, not bothering to try to sit up.

Not letting go of his hand, Maddie reached out her other hand to brush fingers through his hair. Static electricity jumped from his hair to her hand. "How are you feeling?"

One eyebrow cocked upwards. "Ow," he repeated. Then he looked around. "Where am I?"

"Hospital," she said.

"Oh." His eyes closed for a long moment. Maddie thought he'd gone back to sleep. "Why?"

Not wanting to get into it – and not really wanting to know the answer – Maddie just ran her fingers through his hair again. "You go back to sleep. I'll explain it when you wake up."

He made an agreeable noise, his eyes not opening again. Maddie just sat there, running her fingers through his black flecked-with-white hair, and wondered what would happen next.


	21. Haffinga - Danny

Haffinga

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

Danny's first mistake was pushing that button. Light, pain, and this deep, horrifying sense of death swamped his senses. Disoriented by the pain, Danny didn't turn left to get out of the Fenton Portal and end up back into his parents' lab.

He went right.

Stumbling into a green landscape full of mind-bending physics and empty expanses, Danny was mostly blinded by tears of agony. Disoriented, he took a few teetering steps before falling off the edge of the tiny floating island his parents' portal had formed on.

He screamed as he fell, twisting and tumbling past bits of rock and doors and startled-looking beings. At some point, he blacked out. By the time he woke up, he was lying on a spit of rock, bruised and sore and still aching from the portal accident…

He was totally and completely lost.

.

Over the next couple of weeks, Danny struggled to stay in his ghost form as much as possible. His human body was simply not adapted to this new world he found himself in. It needed to eat and sleep and got hurt too easily.

Even as a ghost, he found his human body pulled at him. Hunger chased him through portal after portal – always to some random time and place, never home – in search of food. Sleep forced him to hole up now and then. Several times he would wake up to find himself surrounded by annoyed ghosts.

They called him haffinga.

Few ghosts spoke English. The ones that did generally used it to taunt and scare him. After the initial burst of absolute terror, Danny learned to hide, learned to avoid, and started to listen. Slowly, steadily, he got a crash course in his new language. By the time he'd been there for a month, Danny was fluent in curses and derogatory language and the phrase go away, if nothing else.

As he searched through portals, wishing and desperately hoping to find a way home, Danny kept learning. He learned to fly better than most of the ghosts he ran into. He learned to defend himself. He learned to speak properly.

His sense of time and place started to fade. Left and right and up and down lost all meaning in a world with no direction. The deep gnaw of hunger and the dark pull of sleep were his only ways to keep track of time. He'd carefully kept track of the number of days when he first arrived, but now he kept losing track of what number he'd been on. Numbers didn't exist in the ghost world the same way they did in the human world.

At some random point, Danny figured was about a year into his forced life as a ghost, Danny heard a rumor about a stable portal with some exceptionally crazy humans on the other side. "Korren l'sen riogin?" he asked. Where is the portal?

The ghost – a particularly annoying one of Walker's underlings that went by the name Trigger – looked at him and laughed. "Al'k'brena, haffinga." Go away, half-breed.

Danny wasn't the weak, little haffinga that had stumbled into the ghost world all that time ago. Not anymore. He was part human, and that human part enabled him to grow and change. He'd listened and watched and learned, and Danny now knew how to get the information he wanted out of a ghost: he attacked.

Blasts of energy slammed into Trigger, forcing him down and back. Taking the ghost by surprise, Danny jumped on him, slamming the ghost into the rocky island. Pushing energy into his hand, he held it inches from Trigger's blank face. "Korren al'l'sen, dwarco?" he demanded. Where is it, weakling?

"Ela," the ghost finally relented, pointing up and over. It's over there.

Danny didn't thank the ghost – there was no such word in their language anyways – he just gave the ghost one last shove into the sharp rocks and flew in the indicated direction.

It took several periods of sleep and several more beat-up ghosts before Danny found the portal he was looking for. It was a perfect circle of green mist, hovering on a small, floating island. Portals formed in any shape or size, but most were rips and tears in reality and were shaped as such. Perfect circles were unheard of in normal portals.

Danny didn't want to let himself get excited or overly optimistic – he'd been let down several times in the past – but he couldn't help the small, bubbling feeling of nervous anticipation as he crouched on a rock some distance away. Was this his chance to go home? Was this his opportunity to get out of this strange world and be human again? Would his parents even let him come home, now that he wasn't totally human?

It took a long time before Danny managed to fight down all the raging emotions inside of him. As calm as he probably could ever be, given the situation, Danny floated over to the portal and held his hand up to its swirling surface. It didn't feel like a normal portal. There was unnatural buzzing to it.

A welcoming, pleasant, buzzing that called to something deep inside of him and made him smile. "Roobwr," he whispered. Home.

Tense and trembling, Danny turned back into his human form. It felt heavy and awkward after all that time as a ghost. Rubbing his hands on his arms, trying to get used to the feelings of having a body and nerves and sensation again, Danny stepped into the mist and vanished from the ghost world.

.

The world Danny stepped into was an abyss. He froze in place, his human eyes lost in the dark, blinking and waiting, swaying at the unwelcome return of gravity. Slowly, the shadowed world started to fade into view. Tables. Boxes. Equipment. He looked around, carefully surveying everything he could see with one question in his mind: Am I home?

While he couldn't imagine too many families having an ectology lab and man-made portal to another dimension in the basement, Danny refused to allow himself to get excited over what he was finding. The ghost world was full of tricks, and Danny had stumbled onto too many of them to be naïve about what was around him. He walked forwards, tracing his fingers over the equipment around him.

Steps appeared in the darkness, right where Danny remembered them. Gravity pulled on his unused human body, making the stairs hard to climb. He had to pause halfway up, panting, before continuing.

The kitchen was also dark, illuminated by streetlights through the windows and tiny LED clocks on the stove and microwave. Danny peered at the clock, taking a few seconds to decipher the numbers and remember what they meant. 3:48. It was the middle of the night.

A calendar hanging on the wall informed Danny that it was October – and over two years since he'd last stood in this house. That took him by surprise. Two years? He'd have figured it was closer to one year. Words on the calendar, dates and times that had names like Maddie, Jack, and Jazz attached to them, were a welcome sign that this was, at last, his home.

Legs trembling with the exertion of holding him up after being practically unused for two years, Danny stumbled over to the table and settled into a chair, trying to decide what to do. Should he go wake up his parents? Should he wait for them down here? Would they even want him anymore?

Danny's mind was still caught in the timelessness of the ghost world. As he sat there, contemplating his options with a nervous twist to his gut, he lost track of time. The sun glinted on the horizon. People started to stir in their homes around the block.

The light flicked on with a sudden snap that made Danny jump. He twisted around, staring at the person standing in the doorway. He recognized her with a sharp, desperate ache around his heart.

"Who…?" his mother started, but then stopped and stared at him.

Danny slowly got to his feet. After two years of fighting to survive, he knew his human form was bruised and broken. After two years of nothing but random scraps and long periods with no food at all, he knew his human form was skinny and sapped of life. After two years, he knew that his mother probably wouldn't recognize him.

But she whispered, "Danny?"

And that broke through whatever last nerves were holding Danny in place. "Mom." He raced across the kitchen, threw himself into her arms, and clung to her. She was soft and warm and smelled just like he remembered. Tears raced down his face.

She held him close, then slowly pried him away to stare at his face. Her fingers traced over bruises and cuts. "Who… where… when…" She sounded lost and uncertain what to ask or say. There were tears on her face. Then she just breathed the word, "Danny…" and pulled him to her again. "Oh, my Danny."


	22. Football - Dash, Danny

Football

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

Dash knew he wasn't the smartest grape in the bunch, but he wasn't nearly as dense as most people thought he was. Things like homework and studying were for peoplewithout a brilliant football career head of them, so Dash simply didn't bother with them. He barely passed all of his classes – his grades were all D's with the exception of gym (straight A's) – and that was more than good enough for him. With some effort, he knew he could've gotten B's and C's, but he was smart enough to realize there was no point in working for high grades yet. The football program he wanted to get into looked only at his senior year scores: he'd work hard next year.

At least, that was the plan… until the day he ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. That day was a cold December Monday after a storm had dumped about eight inches of snow onto Amity Park. Still bleary and wishing for his bed, Dash stumbled out of his house, late for school, and shivered in his thin jacket as he brushed the worst of the snow off his car.

Car deemed clean enough, Dash crawled in, turned the key, and realized that Paulina –idiot airhead Paulina – had left on the overhead light in the backseat on Friday. His battery was completely drained. With his father already gone to work, there was nobody to jump his car. And, seeing as though school had started five minutes ago, there was no one to call for a ride.

After a few minutes of swearing and hitting his steering wheel and debating going back inside to curl up in his bed and pretend he was sick, Dash sighed. They were announcing Junior Snowball candidates today, and he needed to be there in case his name was called. Eying the snow with distaste, but seeing no other options, he crawled back out of his car, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and walked the seven blocks to school as quickly as possible.

He made it four of the seven blocks, anyways. Somewhere during block five, he caught sight of a ghost fight and found himself getting sidetracked. Perhaps he'd see Phantom again. Not because he wanted the ghost's autograph – but that would be neat and Dash wasn't about to say 'no' if offered – but because Dash had been noticing a strange pattern and he was curious to find out if he was right.

Someone had been beating up Fenton for the last three years, and it was someone that Dash didn't know. Dash had been readily taking credit for the nerd's new bumps and bruises, but in reality he hadn't touched Fenton in weeks. Dash was positive it wasn't anybody at the school. And Dash – simply because he wanted to know who was beating up his punching bag without asking – had started to pay attention to what injuries went where and when. That's when he'd noticed the horrible, awful, mind-altering pattern emerge.

Unfortunately for Danny Fenton, Dash wasn't quite smart enough to realize that it was impossible for a human and a ghost to be one and the same.

Dash crouched behind one of the thicker snow banks and watched the fight spiral overhead. Green flashed back and forth. The ghost was a mass of sticky goo that looked something like an animated snowman, and it landed a powerful hit to Phantom's right shoulder before getting sucked into the soup can Phantom was always carrying around. Phantom vanished, Dash frowned, and then raced the last three blocks to school. Here was a good chance to find out if he was right.

"Fenton," he said, stalking up to the slender boy standing by his locker. His shoes were wet from the snow and squeaked on the waxed floor.

The boy jumped and spun. "Dash," Fenton said. Although his hair was flecked with snow, his shoes didn't squeak.

Dash didn't give him time to complain. He grabbed the boy by the front of his shirt, hoisted him in the air just enough to check and see – yes, Fenton had a huge burn mark on his right shoulder, like Phantom would have had – and slammed Fenton into the locker. Left shoulder first, of course. Phantom was something of Dash's idol. "Listen, dweeb," he said, now convinced that he was right about his assumption, "I gotta problem, and that means you gotta problem."

Fenton had grabbed onto Dash's wrists, but not doing much to try to escape. "You always have a problem," the boy muttered with an eye roll. "What's the major crisis in your world today?

Dash frowned. Planning ahead wasn't a strong point for him, and he wasn't entirely sure what to say now that he had Fenton in his grasp. Did he really want to pound answers out of the local hero? Did he just want to tell Fenton that he knew? That he'd help cover for him? He certainly owed the boy something after wailing on him the last few years, he just wasn't sure what or how to broach the topic.

Dash batted the ideas around in his head long enough that Fenton piped up again. "Can we hurry this up a little? I have a test to fail."

Fenton's grades were in the toilet – everybody knew that – and that comment gave Dash an idea. Not a great idea, in the grand scheme of things, but he was pretty proud if it. "Lancer assigned us as study buddies."

"What!?" Fenton's eyes were comically wide. "But, but, but I don't get any better grades than you do!"

Dash had to prevent himself from slamming the boy into the locker again at that, belatedly pretty obvious, hole in Dash's idea. "Why should I know?" Dash said, annoyed that Fenton was so easily picking holes in his plan. "But Lancer won't let me out of it until I get straight C's. So you'd better be a good study buddy, or so help me…" he trailed off, going for menacing.

Fenton cringed appreciatively, but there was no fear in the boy's gaze. Just annoyance. "Yeah, well-"

Not willing to hear if there were any more problems with his plan, Dash let go of Fenton's shirt and pointed a finger in his face. "I'll be at your home after school. You better be ready."

After Fenton scurried away, Dash hurried to Lancer to explain the plot. Lancer had been delighted with the idea – anything for Dash to get his grades up – and had agreed to take the blame if Fenton and company came to complain. Dash, feeling pleased and having that little glow of satisfaction in his heart, made it through the rest of his day before remembering he had no car with which to get to the Fenton's. Not willing to risk the wrath of the rest of the A-list by asking for a ride, Dash had few options.

It ended up being a long walk. At least the sidewalks were shoveled and the sun was shining. However, by the time he stumbled up to the Fenton's front door, his fingers were numb and he was well and truly regretting this plan. Fenton was snarky and not helpful at all, the house stank like burned oranges, and Fenton's two friends sat in the corner and made all sorts of comments under their breath.

The rest of the week didn't go much better. Dash showed up every day after school – to Fenton's endless complaining – and refused to leave until the two of them had worked through the worst of their homework. It got marginally better when Fenton's friends finally abandoned them. However, by that point Dash's friends had realized where Dash was going, and the comments from that quarter were somehow worse than the ones from Foley and Manson.

But Dash was nothing if not persistent – even in the face of complications that would have made smarter minds back off. He held onto things and accomplished his goals – come Hell, high water, ghosts, or even his friends' growing scorn. The end of the quarter was in just a few weeks. If he could get Fenton's grades up by making him do his homework, he'd feel good about himself for helping Phantom out, and then he could quit with a clear conscience. The two of them would be square.

Fenton, still annoyed at the enforced studying, started to explain some of the work to him to get the homework done faster. And Dash started to understand, just a little bit. Fenton's grades spiraled upwards – but so did Dash's. When report cards finally came and Dash found out he'd gotten every grade up to a C (except gym – his gym grade was still an A), and he had actually gotten a B- on his last history test, it was his chance to quit. Wimpy, nerdy Danny Fenton actually stormed up to him in the hallway anddemanded their study sessions stop in front of the rest of the A-list.

Dash's father wasn't impressed by the higher grades – his father wasn't much into school – but his grandmother had gotten a copy of his report card and didn't stop talking about it for days. She even promised him a better car this summer if he could keep his grades up for the second semester. Dash had a soft spot for his grandmother, and was reallylooking forwards to a car that didn't break down twice a month, and so there was really only one option, although he did allow Fenton to talk him into making their study sessions twice a week rather than every day. Now that his conscience was being wiped clean (Fenton had pulled B's and a few A's because of him, with the exception of gym – still a D), he certainly didn't need to devote every day to studying.

The backlash for continuing the study sessions was pretty impressive. Paulina refused to talk to him for several hours, Star right behind her. Kwan stared at him, shaking his head, but ultimately just shrugged. The rest of the A-list gave him various states of the cold shoulder. But Lancer took the blame for the study sessions, and life quickly went back to normal.

It was early March when Fenton cornered him after school. Dash had tormented Fenton before stuffing him in a locker earlier – a task he no longer felt any twinge of conscience about, since the boy was a ghost that could get right back out again. "Dash," Fenton said, stepping out from an alley and crossing his arms and blocking Dash's path.

Dash was alone, headed towards home (his car had broken down again), but he cracked his knuckles for effect. "Back for more?" he taunted.

"Give it up," Fenton muttered, letting his arms drop to his side. "What are you doing?"

"What do ya mean?" Dash blinked at him.

Fenton actually rolled his eyes. "I'm not stupid, Dash. You haven't punched me in almost three months."

Dash narrowed his eyes. He'd been very careful to keep up his stupid bully act around Fenton. "I did. I-"

"You're pulling your punches and you know it," Fenton said. His eyes were narrowed. "What gives?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dash said. "Now move, I've got enough nerd-germs on me for one day."

Fenton pressed his lips together with a hum, then said, "No." When Dash sidestepped the slender teen to go around him, Fenton turned and followed. "I got the truth out of Lancer. These study things were your idea, not his."

Excuses and lies were not things Dash was good at; he was best with blunt honesty. So he stayed quiet and just kept walking. Fenton stayed on his heels for blocks, pestering him, until they were nearly to Dash's house. "Look, Fen-turd," Dash finally said, "just leave me alone, alright?"

"Sam thinks you have a box of rocks in your head."

The odd segue made Dash blink. "What?"

Fenton stepped up until he was well within Dash's personal space. But Dash wasn't going to back away from anyone – even if that anyone was Phantom – so he stood his ground. "I know better," Fenton said quietly. "You're actually pretty smart, when you want to be. I think you know something."

"Know what?"

Fenton stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels with a grin. "I'll make you a deal, Dash. You don't tell anyone what you know, I won't tell anyone you're secretly pretty smart and pretty nice."

Dash scowled at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

With a wave of his hand, Fenton stepped back, giving Dash breathing room. "We've got a big test coming up in chem on Friday."

"I know," Dash said.

"You coming over to study tomorrow?"

Dash hesitated. He was pretty sure that Fenton had figured out that he knew about Phantom. He was pretty sure that Fenton had figured out that Dash was trying to be helpful and that the study sessions were something of a sham. And still, the boy wanted to study with him. "I thought you were studying with Foley and Manson."

With a shrug, Fenton said, "They'll play nice." He tipped his head to the side, black hair falling in his face. "Maybe when we're done we can show you some of my parents' tech. Target practice in the lab's kinda fun. Like a video game, only… you know, real."

"I'll think about it," Dash said, then he turned and stalked away. This time, Fenton didn't follow. He did want that new car, so he would definitely not turn down the help. And trying his hand at a bit of ghost hunting might actually be interesting. Perhaps even as interesting as football.

But probably not. Nothing was as great as football.


	23. Metabolism - Danny, Valerie

Metabolism

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

"You don't have a metabolism."

Although the words were said in a conversation tone, Danny scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, slumping back in his seat at school and trying to keep his voice to a level that wouldn't carry too far. "I do too."

Valerie shot him a disbelieving look. "Yeah, right now, sure. But not always."

"I have a metabolism all the time!" Danny uncrossed his arms long enough to pull the health textbook closer and peer down at the page the teacher had assigned. "Let's just get this work done."

The textbook was pulled from his hands. "I want to talk about this," she said.

"I don't." Danny jerked it back. "Every single conversation we have doesn't have to be about that."

Valerie looked started. "It's not every-"

"Yes it is." Danny wrote his name on the top of the paper. "Ever since I told you, you don't want to talk about anything else."

"It's kind of important."

"I'm like this close to an F in this class," Danny said, holding up his fingers right next to each other. "This is kinda important too. So can we just get through this?" Without looking up, Danny paged through the book to find the answer to question 1 and said, under his breath, "And then I can get away from you again?"

Valerie was silent for a long time. "You've been avoiding me?"

Danny winced. He hadn't meant for her to hear that. "I… Yes, I have." He looked up at her with a sigh. "Valerie, it's getting really annoying. I told you because I thought we were friends, and I thought you deserved to know." He shook his head. "And I'm kinda regretting it. At least we were friends before."

"We're still friends," Valerie said, but there was a note in her voice that made Danny think she didn't quite believe it either.

Danny didn't bother to respond to that. When he'd sat Valerie down two weeks ago to tell her about the accident, he'd known that he was putting his friendship with the girl on the line. It tried not to feel hurt about what she was choosing to do.

He was on the tenth question before Valerie spoke again. "I'm just trying to understand," she said. "I have two years of catch-up to do."

Danny'd heard that before. He wasn't sure he believed it. She wasn't being curious in the way Jazz had when she was constantly pestering him with questions. Valerie's method felt more like she was trying to dig through some 'mask' of humanity and prove that Danny was really a ghost underneath.

"Metabolism," Valerie read out of her textbook, "the set of life-sustaining chemical transformation within the cells of living organisms. Ghosts don't have cells, and they're not living organisms."

"Fine," Danny said. He scribbled down the answer for number thirteen. Without his partner's help, he crossing his fingers most weren't wrong. He needed a better grade in this class or his parents were going to start breathing down his neck again.

"So you can't have a metabolism as-"

Danny dropped his pencil, reached over, and snatched Valerie's textbook from her hands. He closed with a rather louder snap than he'd been planning. He sat there, quiet, as the class looked at him, then got back to work. "Human health books are only going to talk about human metabolisms," he said darkly. "I fully agree with you that ghosts don't have a human metabolism – they're not human – but they do have a version of a metabolism."

"Don't you mean we?"

Danny stared at her. He blinked a few times. Something in his heart felt like it had broken free of its moorings.

He quietly handed her back her textbook, picked up his pencil, and worked his way through the last few questions. He didn't really bother to read the words, so he was pretty sure he'd get those ones wrong.

When Valerie asked him another question, he didn't look up.

At the bell, after he handed in his assignment, he paused next to Valerie. "Don't bother sitting next to me again until you find something else to talk about." Ignoring the hurt – but still somewhat suspicious – look on her face, Danny headed out into the hallway.


	24. Metabolism 2 - Valerie, Danny

Metabolism (part 2)

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

"Do you know what you and Vlad have in common?"

Sam's spork broke with a resounding snap. Tucker turned off his game and a rare look of exasperation crossed his face when he looked up at the newcomer to their table. Danny kept eating with absolutely no sign he'd heard anything.

With nothing but silence and two evil looks as an answer to her question, Valerie set down her tray and settled into the seat next to Danny. Ignoring the two glaring friends, she turned her attention on her target. "Do you know?"

Danny slowly set down his spork and glanced at her. His eyes were a dark, stormy blue. "I told you not to talk to me until you had something else to talk about." His voice was bland, but his expression was frigid.

"I'm explaining what I'm doing," Valerie said. "I get you don't want me to ask you questions, but-"

"I don't mind you asking questions," Danny said. "What I mind is you picking through my life and trying to find every reason why I might be an evil ghost."

Valerie's lips tightened into a line. "I want you to understand what I'm doing."

"I don't care anymore," Danny muttered. He turned away, leaving Valerie with nothing to stare at but the profile of his nose.

"Do you know what you have in common with Vlad?" she pressed.

Grabbing his tray, Danny got to his feet. "Leave me alone." Sam and Tucker were a split-second behind him, their show of solidarity doing nothing to ruffle Valerie's composure.

Leaving her tray, Valerie got up and followed him through the lunchroom. He dumped the remains of his lunch, then headed for the door. She waited until they were just outside the lunchroom before taking a few fast steps and grabbing hold of Danny's arm. "Hang on a second."

"No," Danny snapped, pulling his arm free. "I'm done. I'm not your friend, and it seems like I never really was."

There was a small moment of hurt that passed through Valerie's chest, but she pushed the feeling away. "Can't you just listen to me for a minute?"

"Why?!" Danny flung his arms out, apparently no longer caring about the volume of his voice. "All you're going to do is point fingers at me for something I can't help." He scowled, little flecks of green floating in his eyes. "I've been listening to you for three weeks, and now I'm done."

Still the silent partners, Sam and Tucker stood behind Danny with identical expressions of annoyance. Like there was a cue, they both crossed their arms at the exact same time.

Before the trio could walk away, Valerie gritted her teeth. "Vlad cons people-"

"Danny doesn't con people!" Sam spoke up, fury sparkling in her eyes. "Come on, Danny. This…" Sam's eyes raked up and down Valerie's form, "person doesn't have anything to say we need to hear."

But Danny just stood there, staring at Valerie. He didn't move to leave.

Valerie took it as a positive sign and pushed forwards with her argument. "Vlad can mess with people's thoughts just by being around them. He certainly got to me, and to your parents."

Danny's eyes narrowed a touch. Tucker took a step forwards.

"That's why he always gets his way. That's why nobody knows about him. Because Vlad can influence people just by being around them." Valerie licked her lips before continuing. "You can do it too. That's why people don't learn your secret, even though it's really obvious. Because you don't let them."

"This is nonsense," Sam hissed. She grabbed Danny's arm and tugged on it. "Let's get out of here."

Danny was like a statue, though. He just stood there, staring at Valerie.

"I can feel it too," Valerie said quietly. "But I can't ignore what I'm seeing. I'm not going to write you a love song because you want me to."

"Danny's not evil!" The denial came in an odd stereo from both Sam and Tucker. Danny's eyes flicked over his shoulder and back. The little specks of green were gone.

Valerie glanced at Danny's friends. "Yes, I'm skeptical of you. Yes, I'm picking at things you don't want me to. But I'm not going to just fall into lock-step with everyone else and bow before the greatness that is Danny Phantom." She reached out a hand and poked Danny in the chest. "I'm going to figure you out. I'm going to understand you. You might not want it, but you need someone who can watch what you do with a skeptical eye."

"You don't trust me." They were the first words Danny had spoken in a while, and they were laced with pain.

"I don't know."

Danny stared at Valerie, his face empty of emotion.

"I am your friend," Valerie said, going for gentle. It didn't work well – Valerie wasn't well known for 'gentle'. "I'm the only one that cares enough to-"

"Are you insinuating that I don't care about Danny?" Sam's voice was a dark whisper.

Valerie glanced at the livid girl. "No. What I'm insinuating is that you only care about the things Danny's okay with you caring about. I'm insinuating that you might only like-like him because he's had a crush on you for years and he wants you to. I'minsinuating-"

At Valerie's blunt assessment of how the trio's friendship worked, Sam let out a dark-sounding scream and leapt at her. Danny reached out and grabbed Sam around the waist before the irate girl got anywhere near Valerie.

"Leave us alone." Danny's voice was dark. "Don't talk to any of us again."

"Or what?" Valerie said challengingly.

Danny's jaw moved, but he didn't say a word. "We're not friends anymore."

Opening her mouth to respond, Valerie was cut off by a teacher's familiar drawl.

"Do we have a problem here?" Mr. Lancer said, no doubt drawn over by Sam's shout.

Danny's blue eyes flicked to the teacher, then fixed on Valerie. "Do we?" he asked. The question as loaded and heavy.

Valerie shook her head, but her mind was screaming, 'Yes, yes there is a problem. My friend is a ghost!'

Watching Danny and friends walk down the hall towards their next class, Valerie narrowed her eyes. Despite Danny's comment, she still considered the boy something of a friend – and now her moral responsibility. She wasn't going to let him fall to the ghost that had contaminated his mind, and she wasn't going to let the spook's pollution claim any more of his soul than it already had.

Her fingers curled into a fist by her side. No matter how hard he fought her, she wasn't going to let him slip. Because that's what friends were for.


	25. Shits Dark - Danny, Vlad

Shits Dark

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

When Danny went from human to half-human, he fully expected some changes to his normal routine. Green eyes, floating, falling through desks – those sorts of things he could take in stride. Sam and Tucker were able to laugh with him about those sorts of things. They were funny problems, in a morbid, break-the-laws-of-known-physics sort of way.

Then there were the things he wasn't expecting. The things he wouldn't tell Tucker, much less Sam. Things nobody mentioned in the super-embarrassing puberty classes they had been forced to sit through several times. Like the fact that this one ghost looked exceptionally cute, despite being dead, and he shouldn't be attracted to dead girls. Like the fact that his sweat set off a Geiger counter in his parents' lab yesterday. Like finding out his spit glows in the dark when the movie theater straw glowed after he had sucked on it.

And like the fact that trips to the bathroom were interesting, to say the least.

He noticed it with his urine first – it glowed. He even snuck the aforementioned Geiger counter up to the bathroom at one point to check it. The radioactivity made the machine's sensors spike. Not horribly dangerous levels, but definitely enough that he spent several days worrying about the fact that he was irradiating the city's water supply every time he went to the bathroom.

It took several days before he noticed the other, perhaps more disturbing change in his body. Not being the type to spend time examining the contents of a toilet – but having enough life experience to know what it should look like – Danny understandably did a double-take after buttoning his jeans and reaching for the flushing lever.

The poop was black. Not like dark brown. Not like 'ate too much purple juice mix on a dare' dark. But pitch black – and a lot less… massive… than usual.

Danny stood over the toilet, looking around, trying to decide if this were something he needed to worry about. He fished the Geiger counter out from under the sink (because where else would be a good place to store it?), and sat down, scanning the white porcelain. The radiation levels were normal.

Well, that was positive. At least his shit wasn't radioactive.

After spending several minutes contemplating his own fecal matter – and Jazz pounding on the door, wanting to wash her hair – Danny decided to worry about it later and just flushed the toilet.

A quick internet search later that evening told him a variety of horrifying reasons why his poop might have gone black. Of course, none of those problems mentioned 'half-ghost' as a trigger. After reading over the options, dismissing most of them with a refreshingly normal teenage attitude, Danny decided to just keep an eye on things.

Dark black seemed to be the new color his intestines wanted to churn out, along with a whole lot less material than he was used to. Even though trips to the bathroom (going ghost!) were becoming more frequent, real trips to the bathroom were becoming fewer and farther between.

By the one-month anniversary of the accident, he was peeing only once a day, at that. That wasn't to say he wasn't thirsty – he was constantly drinking. But his body was simply using all the water he could take in. He figured it had to do with the ectoplasm, but he wasn't going to ask Sam or Tucker. His body also seemed to be getting better at processing the food he ate. It wasn't unusual for him to go several days without feeling the need to defecate.

In the grand scheme of his wacky life, he figured it wasn't all the important and went about his days not worrying too much about it. As time went on and Danny discovered new, rather embarrassing things his half-human body wanted to do, the fact that his pee glowed and his poop was black journeyed further down the list.

Until one day, just about a year after the accident, when Danny finally found someone that might know some answers, and a reason to ask the questions. Vlad had captured him (again) for some crazy experiment (again) and Danny was sitting in a cage (again), bored and waiting for a chance to escape. "Hey, Vlad."

The man grunted, studying something under a microscope.

"Why's my poop black?"

He watched Vlad tense and slowly turn around. "What?" the man said.

Danny – forever looking for a reason to torment the old man – saw an opening. The stiff, highbrow man would despise talking to a teenage boy about bodily functions. Danny just barely kept the smile from his face when he asked, "My poop's been black since the accident. Is yours?"

Vlad's eyes narrowed. Sparks of red swirled through them. "I'm not talking to you about that."

"Who else am I going to ask?" Danny said, trying to sound innocent and naïve. "What if there's something wrong with me? Internal bleeding, or iron poisoning, or something. Can't go to a doctor-"

"Just sit quietly," Vlad snapped, turning back around to his microscope. Little bits of red had appeared in his cheeks.

"My spit glows," Danny said, going for conversational and struggling to keep the snickers out of his voice. "And so does my pee. And my sweat – I figured that one out. It's radioactive and it glows. You want to know what else glows? When I-"

"I do not ever want to know," Vlad snapped. "I'm well aware of which particular bodily functions glow and which don't."

Danny sprawled on his back, floating in the air with his arms behind his head. This was more fun that he was expecting, watching Vlad react. "How am I supposed to know that? You never tell me anything."

Vlad set something down harder than usual. He spoke through his teeth. "I figured it out, I'm sure you will too. Use your brain for once."

"Or you could just tell me and I'd let the topic drop." Danny grinned at the man's tensed-up shoulders. "It's not like I can just look it up, trapped in this cage like this." He sighed, going for dramatic, and stared up at the ceiling through the bars on his cage. "I'll just have to keep talking about it until I get to a computer-"

"Fine."

Danny blinked at Vlad. "No, it's okay if you don't want to. You don't have to tell me anything-"

"Shut it," Vlad hissed. "I will say this once and it will never be repeated." There was quite a bit more red in the man's cheeks than usual. "This is not a topic of conversation that I ever wish to have with you again."

Wishing he had his phone so he could record this for blackmail, Danny sat up and nodded.

Vlad straightened, smoothing the front of his shirt in a bad attempt to pull himself together for the chat. His voice took on the broad, instructing tone teachers often took while lecturing. "Your body contains a larger amount of ectoplasm than a normal human. As you undoubtedly know, ectoplasm and blood do not mix well." Vlad arched an eyebrow, apparently wanting some sort of confirmation.

Danny shrugged, the nodded. He did know something like that – his father had droned on about it – but he didn't know much.

"It's the iron in your blood. Ectoplasm is copper-based, blood is iron-based. Essentially, the ectoplasm is constantly eating your blood cells, releasing a lot of extra iron into your blood."

Danny's eyes narrowed slightly.

Vlad sighed, his shoulders drooping as he lost his teacher-tone and settled for the more-normal rich-guy-sarcasm. "The reason your fecal matter is so dark is because a large portion of it is dead blood cells and extra iron your body is trying to get rid of. The ectoplasm in you makes you constantly on the borderline of being anemic."

"Oh," Danny said. "Isn't that a bad thing?"

"It's not horribly dangerous," Vlad said, waving a hand, "as long as you don't plan to get eviscerated any time soon. And then, blood loss is probably not high on your list of worries."

After a beat of silence, Danny asked, "So why does my sweat and stuff glow?"

"Sweat, urine, spit – they're all things your body uses to remove toxins. Some of that toxin is residual ectoplasmic energy." Vlad's eyebrow twitched. "Your snot, ear wax, and tears glow too, if you hadn't figure that out."

Danny knew his snot glowed – the bout of flu over the winter had been interesting. The little trashcan his mother had put next to his bed had glowed like a nightlight as he filled it with snot-soaked tissues. "Cool," he said, suddenly envisioning making a glowing earwax candle some day.

Vlad huffed. "Quite," he drawled. "Anything else you desperately need to ask, or can I get back to work so you can go home?"

He let Vlad get back over to the microscope. "I don't poop very much."

"Normal," Vlad muttered. "The microbiome of your intestinal tract has slowly modified itself with semi-ectoplasmic bacteria that are more efficient at pulling nutrients from your food. You could swallow nails, child, and still digest them."

Danny blinked, startled, and peered down at his stomach. "The bacteria in my stomach are half-ghost too?"

"I'm going to hire a health teacher for your school and mandate you sit through the class," Vlad muttered. "You do realize you have more bacteria in you then human cells, right? And those bacteria need to go someplace when you change?"

Danny thought that through for a long beat. "So, don't ever get head lice."

Vlad froze. Slowly turned around to stare at him. "You have head lice?"

"No." Danny scowled. "Just, if I ever did. Then they'd be half-ghost head lice, or something?"

"Or something," Vlad muttered, shaking his head. "Try to not get any sort of parasite – for the betterment of all man kind."

Danny couldn't help but agree with him on that topic. A half-ghost parasitic organism was probably high on the list of 'must avoid'. "How much longer before you're going to let me go?" he asked.

Vlad hummed. "When you stop asking idiotic questions and let me get through this."

Danny rolled that around in his head a few times, ran a tongue over his teeth, and let Vlad get a few more minutes of work done. Then, just because he was in a cage and… Well, he didn't need any more reason than that. He was in a cage. Regardless of being experimented on or not, he was in a cage. "There's this girl."

Vlad sighed and closed his eyes. He seemed to be whispering something, but Danny couldn't catch what it was.

Danny fought back the evil grin that wanted to cross his face. "See, I don't know if my reaction to her is normal. When I see her, there's this feeling down here-"

Vlad couldn't get the cage door open fast enough.


	26. Going Human - Jack

Going Human

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

Jack Fenton sat in the basement, staring at what was supposed to be an interdimensional portal into the afterlife. Right now, it was just an insanely expensive collection of rare metals, wires, magnets, and computers. With a frown, Jack sat back in his chair, listening to it groan under his weight.

They'd tried many times to get it to work. They'd solved every problem that cropped up. The mysterious button on the inside neither of them had installed. The short circuit. The deleted code. The missing magnet. All things that could have been considered sabotage… had there been anyone else on the planet that knew what they were building and how to ruin it in such specific ways.

"I fixed it," he mumbled to no one in particular. His wife and business partner was gone on some mother-daughter weekend with their only child, Jazz. It would been days before they returned. "It should work this time."

He'd gone over everything and hadn't left the portal alone for more than the five minutes it took to make food or go to the bathroom. Every circuit had been studied. Every line of code had been scanned. Every wire had been traced.

Sure, he hadn't slept in the better part of thirty-something hours, but he kneweverything would work this time. All he had to do was plug it in.

Don't touch it while I'm gone, Jack, Maddie had said – multiple times – as she packed for the week-long trip. It's dangerous and we both need to be here to contain it if it works.

There was logic in that. Jack knew that. But his thirty-plus-hours-awake brain couldn't decide if that sort of logic would overpower the desire to turn the thing on and see it work. Certainly he could just turn it back off again and Mads would never know.

The world's first interdimensional portal. In his basement.

The ends of the cords were right next to Jack's feet. All he had to do was pick them up and plug them into each other. It would be so easy.

Don't, Jack, Maddie's voice whispered.

He did anyways. He picked up the cords and slotted them together without any sort of pomp and circumstance – the overzealous celebration had vanished several attempts ago. By now he just wanted the thing to work.

The lights flickered and dimmed. A strange, skin-tingling hum buzzed through the lab and made Jack's toes curl and his hair stand on end. The magnetic force building up inside the walls of the portal was strong enough to see – the back wall seeming to warp and bend like a mirage.

"Come on," Jack whispered, leaning forwards in his chair, his fingers curled tightly around the power cord. "You can do this…"

A spark of green. Then another, and another, and then a swirl of light.

"Good, good…"

Emerald spotlights gleamed and flashed inside the portal like crazed fireflies. They swarmed and circled and coalesced into a bright point right at the center of the portal. It got brighter and brighter, making an eerie not-noise that made Jack's teeth hurt, until Jack was squinting and forced to raise his hand up in front of his face to protect his eyes.

"Please work…" He could see his bones of his arm. He could see his pulse – a flare of red tracing through his skin again and again.

He was just starting to wonder if something was going wrong when it all suddenly stopped. The noise. The bright light. The awful feeling in his gut. In the dead silence, Jack slowly lowered his hand, peering at the portal.

It glowed a soft, supernatural green. There weren't any flickers or swirls – just a steady, unnatural light.

"I did it," Jack whispered, staring at his portal with a grin growing on his face. "I did it! Look! I – Jack Fenton! – have got my portal going!" He bounded to his feet, turning around to grab his wife and only belatedly realizing she wasn't there. And only belatedly feeling the swell of guilt in his chest that she wouldn't be able to see their portal turn on for the first time.

He took a few seconds to stare at the portal in wonder, then slowly reached down to grab the plug. He really should unplug it and wait for Mads to get home –

The green light swirled. Something stumbled out of the light.

Jack's brain registered the sight of the intruder just as he realized that neither he nor Maddie had thought to create any sort of weapons or containment devices for what might come through the portal when they turned it on. He froze in place, hoping to God that whatever had come through from the afterlife was friendly.

It turned to look at him. Blue eyes. Black hair. Naked. Male. Teenage. Human? Then it collapsed into a pile on the floor.

Jack couldn't understand. How could a human have come out of the portal? Was his portal not connected to the afterlife after all? Perhaps some other world just like this? Or – worse – just to somewhere else in this world? Surely his calculations weren't that wrong. He'd gone over them! This had to be a portal to the afterlife!

It was quite a while before Jack realized he should at least go see if the teenager that had walked out of his portal was okay. Jack walked forwards, his mouth twisting as he thought about the legal fines and medical bills that might be coming his way if the boy were hurt. Mads would kill him.

"Hey," he said, dropping into a crouch next to the kid. "You okay?"

The boy was breathing, but didn't answer.

"Hey!" Jack shook the boy's shoulder. He got a groan as a response. "You okay?"

A blue eye crept open to gaze up at him. Then the other eye opened. Jack couldn't read the expression on the boy's face – but it certainly wasn't happy and healthy. In fact, it looked a whole hell of a lot like fear and pain.

"Kid." Jack reached for him again, halting when the boy jerked backwards and raised a hand to block him. The kid froze, staring at his own arm, twisting it back and forth in front of him like it was something he'd never seen before. "Are you okay?"

The boy's eyes flicked between his arm and Jack's face as he scooted backwards away from Jack.

"Do you… do you understand me?" Jack stayed still, trying not to freak the kid out more. "English?"

Finally, the boy spoke. "English?" he repeated, his voice shaky and rasping.

Jack's heart dropped at the badly parroted word. "You don't speak English, do you?" What was he going to do with a hurt kid that stumbled out of an interdimensional portal that didn't even understand him?

"I… understand… you," the boy whispered.

"Great," Jack said, grinning. "My name's Jack. Jack Fenton. You-"

"What did you do to me?" The kid finally let his arm drop to his side, staring at Jack with that same pain/fear expression from earlier.

Jack winced and tried to play innocent. Hopefully there wasn't anything too wrong with the kid. Maybe they could just sweep this under the rug… "Why? What's wrong with you?"

"I'm human," the kid mumbled, tearing his eyes off Jack to look at the portal. It still glowed that soft, blameless green. Something emerald sparkled deep in the boy's eyes. "You made me human…"

"What were you before?" Jack asked, his voice so quiet he could barely hear it. His heart thumped loudly in his ears, nervous and excited to hear the words come out of the boy's mouth. This was it. The proof that his portal was really working and was accessing the afterlife.

"I'm a ghost…"

Jack couldn't hold back the smile. He leaned back on his heels, beyond pleased with himself. He'd done it! He'd accessed the afterlife and brought a ghost…

The smile faded. He'd brought a ghost back to life…

The portal wasn't designed for that. It was supposed to be a window. A one-way view into a world unseen.

And now he had a boy, a human boy that was a ghost not five minutes ago, sitting in his lab. Maddie's voice chose that moment to whisper in his brain again. We both need to be here to deal with anything that might come out.

Jack didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. He just stared at the ghost, shivering and naked and all too human, that was curled up in a corner of his lab. "Maddie's going to kill me," he breathed.


	27. Moonstruck - Jack, Maddie, Danny

Moonstruck

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

Mads and I had spent months working on our new project, and we'd been so excited: a portal to another world. Imagine the effects of something like that.

…We never imagined what would really happen. Danny walking into it. Getting shocked. Ending up in the hospital for a week while doctors threw words at us that we struggled to understand. Beyond the small burn on his hand from where he'd touched the live wires, Danny didn't look hurt.

But he was hurt. It wasn't until we brought him home and weeks had gone by that we really started to understand what the doctors had meant. The shock delivered by the portal had destroyed slices of my son's brain. Months passed, and he never gotten better.

Eventually we realized he wasn't ever going to be the same ever again…

* * *

I set the bowl of cereal in front of my son and watched him peer at it through his bangs. After poking the bowl with his finger several times, acting as if it were going to bite him, he grasped the spoon, glanced around the kitchen, and started to eat. I couldn't help the small sigh of relief – I wasn't in the mood to fight with him over the benefits of eating yet again.

"Preference for lunch today?" I asked, leaning my elbows on one of the kitchen chairs. Mads and I had given up on Danny eating the school lunch months ago. It wasn't worth the battle.

Danny blinked at me, momentarily pausing breakfast. His blue eyes looked dull. The unfortunate collaboration of the early morning hours and the new dosage of medication made him seem dazed and not quite there. His forehead wrinkled, like he was struggling to make sense of what I'd said.

Giving up on getting an answer, I turned away to make the same lunch Danny had brought to school with him for the past four months – peanut butter and jelly with an apple. They were some of the few things he would eat without complaint.

There was a creak of wood on the stairs, then a few seconds later the feel of warm arms curling around my stomach and the press of lips against my cheek. "Morning, Jack," Maddie whispered. She smelled of shampoo and toothpaste.

I paused my lunch-making duty long enough to grin at her and kiss her back. "Morning."

She squeezed her arms tight, then vanished from my side. I heard her ask, "Homework done?" There was a mumbled response, then the sound of a backpack opening and papers rustling. "Good job."

Putting the finishing touches on the sandwich and sticking it into a small baggie, I grabbed Danny's lunch and turned around. Mads was peering over Danny's homework. Danny was watching her carefully, mouth partway open, the spoon paused halfway to his mouth and dripping milk on the table.

Danny always watched everything that happened around him with a deliberate anxiousness that made my heart hurt. When I set down his lunch on the kitchen table so Mads could pack it into his bag, the movement caught him by surprise. Danny flinched and dropped the spoon, sending the small bite of cereal crashing to the floor.

Green sparkled deep in his eyes, like tiny fireflies.

"Sorry," he whispered, eyes wide as he stared in my direction, obviously startled. Even as Mads reached over to pat his hand and murmur that it was fine, Danny was scrambling for a rag to clean up the mess.

I took the washcloth from his hand as he came back from the sink and pushed him back to his chair. "I'll clean it up. Eat breakfast."

He stood next to the chair and watched me, eyes following every small movement of my hands as I cleaned the drips of milk and the scattered bits of cereal. It wasn't until I was finished and stood up that he sat down, but breakfast was over. We all knew it. And after a few minutes of watching Danny stare morosely at his half-finished bowl of cereal, Mads simply took it away and set it on the counter.

"Are you ready for school?" Maddie asked, putting Danny's lunch in his bag without another word and zipping it back up.

Danny gazed at her for a long moment before he found an answer. "It's Tuesday."

"That it is," Mads replied, apparently unfazed by the odd answer, and held out the backpack for Danny to grab. "Tucker will be here in a few minutes. Go get your shoes on. And a coat – it's cold this morning."

There was a blank second as Danny processed that. Then he slowly nodded, grabbed the backpack, and headed towards the front door.

It wasn't until the kitchen door was closed that Mads turned around, put her hands on her hips, and looked at me. "I don't like this new medicine they have him on," she said, a dark twist to her voice. "That's not my son."

"It's supposed to help…"

"It's not," she said. "I'm calling the doctor to set up another appointment. There's got to be something better than turning him into a zombie like this."

I picked up Danny's half-eaten breakfast and spooned some into my mouth, humming an agreement. While I wasn't much a fan of the dull look in my son's eyes, it was an improvement over the intense paranoia we'd spent the last eight months dealing with.

"I'm going to get Danny off to school," Maddie said, heading towards the living room, "and I'm going to get some work done downstairs. That government contract is due Friday."

I nodded, even though she'd already turned around and wouldn't see the motion, and leaned back against the counter. The cereal was mostly soggy and the milk had an odd taste. I wondered if it had expired.

* * *

The name 'Fenton' had been associated with the paranormal and less-than-mainstream science fields for generations. Many professional researchers thought the name Fenton was synonymous with 'crazy'. Maddie and I had spent years making a name for ourselves in the field of ghost research – and we'd jumped to the head of the pack after developing the Portal, even though we hadn't seen anything through it yet. At last check, about ninety-three percent of the scientific population thought we were insane.

My son took the Fenton name to a new level. After the accident, Danny saw things that weren't there. He heard things that nobody else could. He felt things that didn't exist.

He told me once that he wasn't ever sure what was real and what wasn't. That if the person talking to him was actually a person or a figment of his imagination. If the car speeding down the road towards him was real or an illusion. If the sharp point poking his shoulder was a kid in his class or a fantasy.

I picked up the latest device I was working on and stared at it, slumping back in my seat and twisting slowly from side to side. The device was nearly done – a new form of radiation detector for the military. I had thought it perfect the previous evening, until it went off around Danny. There was still a bug somewhere in the software.

After almost ten minutes of staring at the thing, I set it down. I really wasn't in the mood to debug the software for the ninth time. Fentonworks was supposed to be the leader in paranormal research – our goal was to prove the existence of another world – not create new technology for the military. But ghost research didn't pay bills, not without any sort of proof that ghosts existed, and military equipment paid well.

I twisted around in my chair and stared at the Portal. The thing that had nearly stolen my son from me, the thing I had dreamed would put my name into the history books. It seemed to be little more than a green light. You could tell it was a tunnel to somewhere. Several feet of floor and walls could be seen if you squinted right, before the brilliant light swallowed the details completely.

Mads wanted to shut it down. She hated looking at it, knowing what it had done to our son. There was no real proof that it actually went to another world, either – when I threw something into the light, it inevitably hit the back wall and bounced back at my feet. The portal was little more than a strange, green light.

I refused to shut it down. I knew it was something. I still didn't know what it was, but I knew it was something.

There was the sound of a door opening upstairs, then feet on the steps. The sound was too hesitant to be Mads. I twirled the chair towards the steps just as Danny stepped into view. He peered around the lab for a second before racing across the lab and ending up in my arms. He was shaking. "Had a bad day?" I asked, glancing at the clock. It wasn't even third period.

Mads appeared a few second later, shooting a look at me with a shake of her head. "You need to stop coddling him."

"I'm not coddling," I muttered, soothing a hand down Danny's back.

"He needs to make it through the school day," she said with a sigh, walking over and settling into the chair next to mine. "It's not okay that he keeps wanting to come home."

I frowned. Danny's head was buried in my shoulder and he was trembling hard enough for me to feel it, and this was the first time in nearly two weeks Danny had come home early. He was making progress – although slowly. "What happened?"

Mads scowled. "What always happens." There was a hint of frustration in her voice. "There wasn't anything there. And he won't tell me what he thought he saw."

"I'm sure fudge would help," I said.

"Fudge isn't going to help," she said with a sigh, picking up the radiation detector I'd put down. "The medication he's on certainly isn't."

I shrugged and rearranged my son in my arms, standing up and carrying him with me. For being fifteen, Danny was absurdly light. It was worrying. "Well, it's worth a shot," I said, keeping my voice light and happy. "I'll be back."

It wasn't until I was upstairs that Danny relaxed slightly and moved his head so I could see his eyes. "Mom's mad at me," he whispered.

"No," I said, intending on setting him into a chair so I could go get the fudge. But Danny's fingers were so interlocked around my neck, I aborted the idea and carted him over to the counter, grabbed the fudge, and then conned him into sitting in his own seat. A piece of fudge securely in his fingers (and one in mine), I said, "She's not mad at you. She's mad at the circumstances."

It took Danny a few seconds to process that. I wondered which word had thrown him. "She's just mad that I'm crazy," he muttered, scooting the chair closer so that his shoulder was pressed against my side.

"You're not crazy." I took a bite of my fudge, feeling the gooey caramel stripe melt on my tongue. "What happened?"

Danny scowled, staring at the fudge. I wondered if he would eat it. Part of the damage to his mind seemed to have affected his appetite and sense of taste. He tended to play with his food more than eat anything. "I saw something."

"What?"

Danny shrugged and didn't answer. For the first few months after the accident, Danny had described the things he saw or heard. They'd been disturbing on many levels – monsters and creatures and demons straight out of the scariest movies I could imagine. He didn't tell us much anymore.

"Must have been something bad."

Another empty shrug.

I took a bite of my fudge to fight back the words that wanted to come from my mouth. That it would be okay and maybe if he just talked about it… But I'd said them many times before – and even though Danny sometimes had problems remembering things, I knew he remembered those words.

Danny ate his fudge, staring out the window, and leaning into me. I wondered what it was like, trying to adapt to being in a world where you couldn't trust your eyes or ears. What it was like to live in a universe where your nightmares came alive and jumped out in front of you without warning – things that nobody else could see.

"I think your mom made an appointment for the doctor again," I said after awhile.

I felt his nod. Glancing down, I saw that his eyes were closed. He looked exhausted – was he not sleeping again?

"Want some more fudge?"

Another nod. Encouraged that Danny was willing to eat something, even if it was fudge rather than something healthy, I broke off a rather large piece and handed it to him. He slowly chewed on it for the next half hour as we sat in silence.

* * *

Danny had developed a new fear: mirrors. I didn't even realize the fear was there until the next morning when him and his sister had gotten into an ear-splitting argument, ending in Danny punching the mirror in his room. Mads had wrapped up his gashed-open hand and sent him with me to the ER for stitches.

"What was in the mirror?" I asked.

He sat in the car, staring blankly forwards, not answering. It was too early in the morning to get him to say much – especially with this new medication running through his system. Blood was staring to seep through the bandages.

"Hold your hand up higher," I said, leaning over at a red light and positioning his hand up on the window ledge. It would bleed less if he kept it above his heart. "There's been enough blood in the car already."

I meant it as a joke for how clumsy I was, but Danny frowned and looked around like I'd meant it. "I don't see any," he muttered.

"I cleaned it," I said, trying to let the joke drop. "What was in the mirror?"

"Eyes," he said softly.

I arched an eyebrow, taking a right onto the street that would lead to the hospital entrance. "Yours?"

He didn't answer that one, staring at something on the sidewalk. I craned my neck, but couldn't see anything.

Giving up, I concentrated on maneuvering the car into one of the parking spaces outside the ER entrance. "Let's go get your hand stitched up."

He sat in the car for a long time before very slowly edging out of the car. The walk to the ER door took forever – Danny was moving at the pace of a snail. His eyes kept flicking up to the roof of the hospital, than over to me, than down at the ground.

On the sidewalk and a few feet from the door, I stopped his slow progress and peered at him. "What do you see?" I asked, wondering if he would tell me.

He looked up at me, very slowly. There was the tiniest flicker of green deep within his blue eyes. "Fire," he whispered. "The hospital's burning. People are jumping from the windows." His eyes jerked to the sidewalk a few feet to the left.

I looked up. There was no fire. No smoke. Just the bland façade of the hospital. Then I looked to the sidewalk where Danny's eyes had focused. Nothing. "The hospital's not on fire, Danny."

"Uh-huh," he said. He couldn't drag his eyes away from the place on the sidewalk where there was nothing.

I put an arm around his shoulders, surprised to feel him trembling. "I won't let anything hurt you," I said. "Come on."

He dragged his feet, flinching as he entered the hospital and was escorted up to the triage nurse to be entered into the system. The delusion would pass – it always did. After I explained about the slices on his hand – and Danny's current mental diagnosis of traumatic brain injury presenting as schizophrenia – we were carted back to an ER nurse for stitches.

"I hate the hospital," he whispered after the stitches were in and bandaged and we were waiting to be released.

I sat next to him, letting him lean against me. The psychologist had mentioned once that Danny seemed to do better when in physical contact with someone. "Why?" I asked, curious, but not really expecting an answer.

"There are things everywhere," he muttered, his voice slurring slightly from the shot they'd given him earlier. "I don't want the mirror in my room anymore."

"Okay," I said. "Wish you would have asked me to take it down rather than just punch it."

"The eyes were going to steal Jazz," he said.

I smiled crookedly at that. Even trapped in some odd sort of hallucination, Danny was bent on protecting his family. He was definitely a Fenton. "Hero of the day, huh?"

He snorted. His eyes were closed and he looked mostly asleep. "Some hero," he whispered. Then, "Wish they'd change the radio station."

I looked up at the ceiling, straining to hear even the faintest wisps of music. Unwilling to admit that there wasn't a radio actually playing, I wrapped my arm around his shoulder and asked, "Why?"

"I don't like this song," he murmured. Then he quietly sang, "You will remember my name…"

* * *

The doctors took Danny off the new medication after the mirror incident, worried about the fact that he'd actually hurt himself, and put him back on a previous version. Mads was pleased, noting the life returning to Danny's eyes and the quicker responses to questions. I thought Danny looked jumpier.

Danny returned to school on Friday, having gotten a few days off to start healing and get used to the medication change. He made it through the day, although the nurse called near the end of the day to explain how Danny had been to see her four times.

I had the car idling near the sidewalk when the bell rang and students tumbled out of the school. Danny followed behind them, jumping the last few steps with a grin and listening to the boy chattering next to him. Spotting the car, the two raced over and climbed into the back seat.

"Hey, Mr. F!" Tucker said, leaning forwards so he was more in the front seat than the back. "Mom says I can stay for supper."

"Danny invite you?"

Tucker hesitated, then smiled. "Sure."

I let a half-smile crook my lips as the boys put on their seatbelts and I headed towards home. Tucker kept up his one-sided conversation, talking about anything and everything under the sun. It wasn't until just a few blocks from home before I heard Danny's voice mention something about a school dance.

"Gonna go?" I asked, peering at him in the rearview mirror. I remembered the last school function Danny had attended – before Mads or I had really understood the extent of Danny's problem. It had been an absolute disaster, underscored by some strange hallucination about a dragon. It had also been one of the last times I'd seen that girl hanging around the house, Sam Manson.

He shrugged. "I don't have a date," he said. "Not gonna get one, either."

"You totally can get a date!" Tucker cut in. "Just put me on the case, Tucker Fol-"

"No." Danny crossed his arms over his chest and slunk down in the seat as far as the seatbelt would allow. "Crazy guys don't get girls."

There was a long second of silence after that comment. "You don't have to have a date," I mentioned, ignoring the 'crazy' comment. "You could just go by yourself and have fun."

Danny looked skeptical. I wondered if he was remembering the dragon too. "Are you going, Tuck?"

The boy looked trapped. "I was… thinking… of going. But I might not. There's a new movie coming out we could go watch, or…" Tucker babbled. "You know, we could just hang out."

I caught an uncertain look in Danny's eyes. "Yeah," he muttered as I pulled into the driveway. As soon as the car came to a stop, Danny was out of his seatbelt and headed towards his room, Tucker two steps behind him.

I sat in the car for a long time after the door had closed, simply holding on to the steering wheel, and wondering what my life would be like if Danny hadn't walked into that portal.


	28. Replay - Sam, Tucker, Danny

Replay

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

Sam opened the door to see Tucker standing on her front step and staring at her with an annoyed look on his face. "Tag, you're it," he muttered.

She had barely enough time to be confused before Danny shimmered into view behind Tucker. The hybrid knew better than to show up at her house in ghost form, so that meant- "Again?"

"Yes." Tucker scowled and stalked past her, headed up to her room.

Danny floated in behind him, grinning. "Tucker's mad at me."

"Not mad!" Tucker called from the steps. "Frustrated. Exasperated. Mildly irritated. Not mad."

Sam sighed and rolled her eyes. "If my parents catch a ghost around here, they'll flip." Danny faded away, becoming nothing more than a cold spot that followed her up the stairs. She pushed open the door to her room to see Tucker already lying on the bed. "Video didn't work this time?"

The boy held up a clearly broken cell phone.

"Ah," Sam said. "What happened?"

Danny appeared again, green eyes bright as he settled in the air with his legs crossed neatly under him. "Technus was attacking Axion Labs." He smiled and stretched his arms over his head, letting his spine pop. "He's not now."

"And what happened to the watch your parents made for you?"

Sam had to hold back a smirk when Danny looked down at his wrist with an almost comical look of confusion. A small, green watch circled his wrist. He fiddled with it, turning it around his wrist, before looking up at them. "I… Why do I have a watch?"

Tucker groaned and put an arm over his eyes.

Danny glanced at him in confusion, but Sam grabbed a nearby book and tossed it at Tucker's stomach. "Be nice," she snapped. "He can't help it."

"Oh, he can help it," Tucker muttered. "He's just too Danny to stop when the timer goes off."

"What can't I help?" Danny asked, looking from Sam to Tucker and back.

Sam wiggled the mouse of her computer and settled down at the desk, digging through files. "Come here." She felt Danny drift over to hover near her shoulder. A quick glance confirmed that Danny was well within her personal bubble, elbows were on his knees and his chin propped up on his hands. "What are you?"

"A ghost," was the quick reply.

"So when did you die?" Sam said, finding the folder and clicking through the files, searching for just the right now.

"Four months ago."

Sam pulled up the video, paused it before it could get going, and sat back in her chair. "You sure about that?"

Danny nodded, arching a bewildered eyebrow. "I'd know if know if I were dead or alive, Sam."

"Watch." Sam clicked 'play' on the computer screen. A video Sam and Tucker had seen dozens of times started to play.

Danny watched closely. "I've seen this before," he said, eyebrows knitting together as images of a hospital and his parents appeared on the screen. "Sam, I don't have amnesia - I don't need to rewatch my life."

"Watch," Tucker and Sam said in bizarre unison.

With a skeptical look, Danny turned his focus back on the screen. The video took careful pains to describe the ghost invasion four months ago when Danny Phantom had nearly died.

Nearly being the key word.

Danny drifted down towards the floor as the video showed him getting better and surviving his wounds. "But…" The Danny on the screen was human, and then turned into a ghost, then back to a human. "Yeah," he said, "I was a halfa before, but…"

"You still are," Sam said, going for gentle. But this being the dozenth-and-some time they'd explained this concept recently, her tone bordered on annoyed. "You got hit in the head. It makes you forget you're human if you stay in ghost form for too long."

His green eyes narrowed. "I…"

"Thus the watch," Tucker interrupted. "It's got a timer on it. You're supposed to return to your human form if it goes off." He removed his arm from over his eyes long enough to send a scathing glare in Danny's direction. "You didn't. Again."

"I do this a lot?" Danny asked. Then he glanced back at the video. "Yeah, I guess if I've seen this video before…"

"You just forget," Tucker finished. "I know." He rolled to his feet and walked over to them. "Can you turn human now so we can go back to our weekend of video games and movies and leave Sam here to ponder the wonders of… whatever it is her parents are making her do?"

"My parents are okay with this?" Danny looked at Sam. A small video clip of Danny and his parents was playing on the screen. "I mean, with me being a ghost?"

Sam tried to keep the smile down. There were only so many times she could go through a 'revelation' with Danny before it started to get funny – and they had passed that point. "Yes, Danny, they are."

"Oh." He waited a beat longer, staring down at the watch on his wrist. "And I'm not a ghost."

"Nope," Sam said. "You're half a ghost."

With a wrinkle of his nose, Danny sighed and set his feet on the ground. "So I guess I do kind of have amnesia."

"Kinda," Sam said, patting his arm sympathetically.

"How do I do this turning human thing?"

Tucker leaned over Sam's shoulder and stopped the video. "Not a clue," he said with a pleasant grin. "You just said it was warm and heavy and tingly." He sent Sam a pleading look.

Rolling her eyes, Sam closed out of the video – which was about to cut to a clip of Danny trying to explain how to turn human. "You'll be fine," Sam said. "Go play video games with Tucker and you'll figure it out."

"What if I don't?" Danny asked.

"Your parents have a gadget or two that can turn you human if you get too hungry," Tucker said, throwing an arm around Danny's shoulders. "The inventions look like theyreally hurt, though, so I'd try to figure it out on your own."

Danny looked suitably nervous as Tucker led him from the room. "I helped you make that video but nobody thought to put in there how to turn human again?"

Tucker chuckled. "That's a great idea! Once you figure it out, we'll record it and add it to the video."

Just before the door clipped closed, Sam heard Danny's skeptical voice ask, "How manytimes have you recorded it?"

Sam snorted and spun around in her chair. Danny's parents would freak later when they found out Danny had disobeyed the watch again. But, for now, she'd let Tucker have his fun. Danny always figured out how to return to his human form before too long.


	29. Wes - Wes, Danny

Wes

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

"Are you ever going to let this go?" Mikey scowled, reaching for his camera. "It's not even my camera! If you break it, my parents are going to murder me."

Wes held it just out of reach, ignoring the jumping, frantic antics of his friend. "Knock it off. You know I'm right," he said, continuing to walk down the street. It was a busy weekend afternoon in Amity Park, and the streets were crowded with late summer tourists come to tour the most haunted city in the world.

"That Fenton - the kid I sit next to in history - is somehow a ghost and regularly saves the town?" Mikey crossed his arms and followed, sulking.

"Yeah, and I just need to get proof." About half a block ahead of Wes and Mikey, Danny Fenton and his two friends were just visible. Wes bounced up on his toes, craning his head to keep the trio in view. He'd been tailing them for the better part of an hour - it would suck to lose sight of them now. Fortunately they seemed to be headed to the Nasty Burger, so even if he lost their trail he could pick it back up again there.

"Yes, yes, this elusive proof," Mikey muttered. "And a waste of a Saturday."

Wes rolled his eyes. "What were you planning on doing before I rescued you from your house? Perfecting your Phantom roll playing game?"

"I'm going to make millions," Mikey said with a delighted cackle and a devious glint to his eyes, "and then invest in different, diversified businesses, and then I'm going to hire Dash and his croonies after they realize they're too stupid to do anything else, and thenI'm going to make them kiss my ass."

Wes stopped, stared at his friend for a long second, then shook his head and kept going. "There's something wrong with you."

"At least mine has logical reasoning behind it."

Wes stepped onto a bench for a moment to get some height over the crowd, catching sight of Fenton's head still ahead of them, before dropping back to the sidewalk and giving Mikey a confused look. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Never mind. Can I have my mom's camera back now?"

"Not until I get my proof! Come on!" Pushing through a thick cluster of visitors crowded around a small tourist trap, Wes picked up the pace. "It's a perfect day for ghosts to attack. I need to be there."

Mikey hummed noncommittally, but kept pace.

"I almost caught it on film last time. That flash of light when Fenton disappears and Phantom shows up. I would have had it, if the video hadn't glitched at just the wrong time." Wes fingered the borrowed camera, mostly muttering to himself. "I just needed a different camera. This one will work. People will believe me after this. I'll put it all over the internet. There'll be nowhere for Fenton to hide."

They trailed after the three friends most of the way to the Nasty Burger, winding through the crowds. Wes kept up his murmured conversation, picturing how different his life would be once he was proven to not be absolutely crazy. Fenton was Phantom. He'd seen it. Mikey just trailed quietly behind him.

They were just about to the Nasty Burger, Wes already peering through the windows in search of his prey, when screams erupted up the street. Wes jerked upright, eyes wide as he looked for the source of the chaos. At first it was just mass panic, but then words started to become more distinct as people ran past. Ghost.

"Mikey!" Wes said, excited, spinning around to grab his friend by the shoulders. "Ghost! Here's our chance!"

Mikey swallowed heavily, his face pale. "How… how about… if I… I… I… stay here and… and… watch?" His voice went squeaky towards the end.

"Don't be stupid." Wes snagged Mikey's wrist and dragged him bodily up the street, fighting the push of people headed away from the violence. "We'll be famous!"

"We'll be dead!" Mikey protested, but gave in and broke into a grudging, shuffling run. He got an elbow to his face from a passerby, knocking his glasses askew. "Hey!"

"Phantom will be there. Which means we can catch it all on video. And we can capture the moment when Phantom turns back into his human counterpart." Wes's words came out in broken phrases as he started to pant. The press of humanity was becoming easier to fight through as the crowd thinned. Overhead was the glow of energy from the attacking ghost. Wes stumbled to a stop, staring upwards. The ghost was high, high up - far too high to capture anything useful using the cheap camera in his hands. "Aw, man!"

Mikey dropped to his knees, breathing hard. "That's too bad. Can we leave now?" He didn't sound disappointed by this turn of events.

Wes curled his fingers into a fist, staring as a black, white, and green figure streaked in from the direction of the Nasty Burger - too high to be filmed. The few people stupid enough to still be on the street let out a cheer. "No!" Wes shouted. "Shit!"

"Next time," Mikey panted. "Let's go see a movie. That new one is out you wanted to-"

Months and months of being called crazy for his theory that Fenton and Phantom were one and the same curdled in the back of Wes's throat. School was starting again in just a few days, and Wes's best chance at getting the proof he needed was slipping away. "Not again," he growled. "This time I'm getting this."

Mikey pulled himself to his feet. "How? Did you miraculously learn to fly at some point?"

Wes spun in desperate circles, trying to keep one eye on the rapidly escalating fight overhead while searching for some way to get closer to the battle. "I can't fly… but I canclimb!" Wes snagged his friend's arm and pulled him towards a tall building. "I just gotta get up on the roof."

"I don't do heights!" Mikey yelped, putting up a token fight even as he was dragged bodily across the road and through the door.

"Chicken," Wes taunted, bypassing the slow-looking elevator in favor of the stairs. He made it up a whole two flights before the burning in his chest forced him to reconsider his choice. If he was going to chase ghosts around town, he really needed to exercise more. "Come on," he said, "elevator's over here."

Mikey was lying on the platform between the first and second floor, breathing in broken, quick patterns. "I'll meet up with you in a minute," the boy groaned, raising a tired hand in a waving motion.

Unwilling to waste the time or energy to go back for his friend, Wes scowled and stumbled down the hallway to the elevator. He pressed the 'up' button about seven dozen times while waiting for the car to show up. Thankfully, the elevator was empty. "Top floor, top floor," Wes chanted, hitting the '11' button and pacing impatiently as the chime slowly rang out the floor numbers. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. "Come on…"

Finally the elevator gave its last ding, the doors sliding geriatrically open. Wes squeezed out long before they'd shuffled to their fully-open position, sprinting for the stairs. There had to be roof access. He burst through the door into the stairwell and grinned with delight when he spotting the stairs winding upwards from the top floor.

The door leading to the roof was marked with 'emergency exit only' signs. Wes ignored them all, uncaring if the fire alarms went off when he opened the door, and burst through onto the roof. The late summer sun was bright overhead; only a few clouds speckled the blue sky. "I made it!" he cheered, twirling in a circle and taking a moment to celebrate before racing for the edge of the roof.

The roof was ringed by a short kneewall, and just beyond that were brilliant flares of light. Inaudible explosions of color, like fireworks with the audio turned off. Wes stumbled to a stop, dropping to his knees as he pulled out the camera and stared over the edge. "There they are," he whispered. The ghosts were fighting less than fifty feet away. Phantom and some strange greenish blob that kept changing shape. "Come to Papa."

Wes fumbled with the camera, turning it on and bring it up to his face. He stared through the viewfinder at the battle, trying to make his movements as smooth as possible as he followed the vicious-looking fight. From here, the ghost's voice were audible.

"Too slow, freak," the blob shouted as Phantom missed a punch.

Phantom didn't miss the next one - or the roundhouse kick that followed and sent the blob tumbling through the air. "At least I have arms," Phantom taunted.

"Arms?" The blob ghost ended up near the building on the other side of the road, transforming its shape into something vaguely centipede-like. "You want arms?"

Wes's eyes widened, his mouth dropping open in surprise. He hadn't realized that ghosts could change shape so easily. His quickly trained the camera on Phantom, wondering if their local ghost would follow suit. What kind of shapes could Phantom take?

Phantom had his arms crossed over his chest and was looking suitably unimpressed. "Those are called legs, Bertrand. How stupid can you possibly-" Whatever Phantom was going to say was cut off as the large centipede threw itself at Phantom and back into the fight.

Wes followed the action closely with his camera, quietly cheering on their local ghostly hero. "Come on, Fenton," he whispered at one point when the blob ghost - at that point transformed into a tiger - seemed to have have the upper hand.

Somebody dropped into place next to him. Wes jerked in surprise, staring at Mikey for a long second before his heart started beating properly again. "Made it," Mikey panted, eyes trained on the fight. "They're still at it, huh?"

Wes nodded, carefully focusing the camera on the ghosts again.

"Look," Mikey said. Wes pulled his head away from the camera's eyepiece long enough to see what Mikey was pointing at. A slightly shorter building on the other side of the street. "Isn't that Manson and Tucker?"

"Yeah," Wes said. "They must have had the same idea as us."

Mikey's forehead was furrowed as he stared at the two friends. "Where's Fenton?" he murmured. "Hiding somewhere, you think?"

Wes rolled his eyes at that comment. "I swear, Mikey…"

The boy blinked a few times before grinning. "Oh, right. You think weak, scared little Fenton is the one fighting that tiger-thing."

"They look exactly the same," Wes snarled through his teeth.

"You kinda look like him too-"

"And I saw it. I saw Fenton turn into Phantom in a flash of light. I saw Fenton reach through his locker. I heard him talking about ghost fighting on the phone! I tell you, Fenton is tormenting me with this. I know he knows I know!"

Mikey held up his hands with a chuckle. "Calm down before you burst a blood vessel. I've already heard the spiel. I'm your friend - I'm here, right?"

Wes ground his teeth for a few minutes. Mikey was facing both his fear of heights and his fear of ghosts to be here. That earned him a few points, if nothing else. "Yeah," he conceded.

The ghost fight unraveling in front of them wasn't going incredibly well for Phantom. The blob ghost, seemingly content to stay in the form of a tiger for now, had left deep claw marks along Phantom's back. Green blood oozed down his body and dripped freely from his shoes towards the ground far below. Blasts of light were coming from the building across the street, most of them hitting their marks; the fight was going so badly that Manson and Foley were taking the risk of joining in.

"This is bad," Mikey whispered.

Wes couldn't help but agree. In the five months he'd been stalking Fenton/Phantom, he hadn't seen a fight Phantom was so close to losing. He kept his camera trained on the hero, biting his lip.

The tiger ghost made a huge leap, its growl loud enough to rattle the nearby windows, claws outstretched. Phantom hung limp in the air, one arm wrapped around his chest and holding onto the other, which seemed to be dangling at an odd angle. The ghost didn't move or try to dodge the attack.

"No!" Wes and Mikey yelled, Wes jumping to his feet with his eyes wide.

From the building across the street came the panicked shout of, "Danny!"

Phantom moved at the last moment, almost seeming to vanish and reappear just above and behind the tiger ghost. Phantom spun, kicked, and there was a huge, blindingly bright flash of light.

By the time Wes blinked the tears out of his eyes, the blob ghost was little more than a smear congealing on the side of the building next door. Phantom bobbled in the air, unsteadily pulling out that strange device that sucked what remained of the ghost up like a vacuum cleaner. Even before Wes's shout had finished echoing around the buildings, the blob ghost was gone.

Wes stood at the edge of the roof, heart pounding in his chest, having completely forgotten about the camera in his mostly limp hand. "Did you see that?" he whispered, the spike of adrenaline still working out of his system making his voice shake.

"Holy shit," Mikey breathed.

Phantom was torn up. Wes could see that the ghost was about to drop out of the air - was already struggling to stay upright. He dropped the camera, putting his hands to his mouth. "Fen-" he broke off. "Danny!" he shouted. When the ghost didn't do much more than jerk a head in his direction, he tried again. "Danny!"

This time he got Phantom's attention. The ghost drifted over to them, barely making it over the edge of the apartment roof before collapsing to the ground. Greenish blood quickly pooled under him. It gave off a sizzling sound when it hit the roof, like pancakes being dropped onto a hot griddle, and the blood stank. Wes coughed, putting a hand up to his nose.

"Hooo, my God," Mikey breathed and crabwalked well away from where Phantom had dropped.

"Danny?" Wes said, stepping as close as he dared and dropping into a crouch. The ghost's body was cold and making the little hairs on his arm stand on end. He shivered and carefully touched the boy's shoulder. A bit of greenish blood smeared onto his fingertips and made his hand tingle painfully. "Danny."

He got a groan in response. Phantom rolled slowly onto his stomach, acid-green eyes flickering open. It took a long few seconds for the ghost's eyes to focus on him. "Wes," the ghost said.

"Yeah." Wes shuffled backwards a small step. "Can I… Do you… need some help?"

"No," Phantom said, although his voice was more a groan than anything else. "Go away."

Wes scowled at the abrupt and rather rude dismissal. "Fine." He got to his feet, rubbing his still-tingling hand against his pants, and located the fallen camera. It was still filming, although it had just gotten about thirty seconds of nothing. Wes fingered it, staring at the ghost. "When you do something for me."

Phantom, who'd been trying to get up, sent him a dark glare. "Go way, Wes. I don't want to play right now."

"I want proof." Wes walked back over, crouching down so that he was inches from Phantom's face. This close, he could see the swirling shades of green that made up the ghost's eyes. "I want proof you're Fenton - proof I can show to the world."

The ghost looked like he was seriously considering it for a second, but the second passed. "Scram." His head jerked in the general direction Mikey had crawled off. "And take that one with you."

"No." Wes set his jaw.

Mikey's voice was querulous, calling from the corner of the roof. "Guys?"

"I don't have time for this," Phantom hissed. He was on his hands and knees by now. The worst of the oozing blood had stopped. "You don't know what you're dealing with. Go away."

"Wes?" Mikey called again. "Phantom?"

Wes was eye-to-eye with one of the most powerful and dangerous ghosts in Earth's recorded history. And he wasn't about to back down. Phantom had gotten the ghost - it wasn't like he needed to run off and be somewhere else. He took a breath, opened his mouth to speak, and was distracted by the sound of Mikey's terrified squeak.

Both Wes and Phantom jerked their heads in his direction simultaneously. A second ghost - this one pure black with gleaming red eyes - floated just above the roof of the building. Mikey dangled out over the edge, held up by nothing more than the backpack straps around his shoulders and her claws dug into the thin fabric. "Fear is so delicious, isn't it?" the ghost purred.

"Spectra," Phantom hissed, staggering to his feet. He didn't quite make it. "Give him back."

The ghost drifted backwards a bit. "You have mine, I have yours. Up for a trade, since you don't quite seem up for a fight?"

Wes couldn't drag his eyes off his friend, startled by this quick turn of events. "Mikey?" he whispered. Mikey was pale and shaking, holding onto the straps around his shoulders with white-knuckled fingers.

There was a horribly long silence. Then Phantom ground out a, "Fine. I'll let Bertrand go-"

"Oh, no, I don't want Bertrand," the ghost laughed, a high-pitched sound that made Wes shiver. "Why would I want that old blob? Keep him."

Phantom had finally made it to his feet, although it was shaky and unstable. "What, then?"

A smile burst onto the ghost's face. Her teeth were bright white against the black of her body. "How about him?" Her eyes turned to Wes, and he felt his knees go weak.

"Yeah, no." Phantom stepped forwards shakily, blocking Wes's view of the ghost, but not of Mikey still dangling over the edge. From this close, the huge, raw-looking claw marks on Phantom's back were clearly visible. Wes stared at them. "Humans are off limits."

Her voice was low and dark when she spoke next. "And how about freaky little boys with freaky little powers?"

"I'm not going to work for you," Phantom said firmly. His body was tense. "You're out of trade options, so go ahead. Drop him."

Wes jerked his head up. "What? No!" He took a step forwards, spotting Mikey's terrified, pale face. "You can't-" He pressed his hand against Phantom's back, fingers landing on the ghost's torn-up skin. In his horror over the situation, Wes's fingernails dug unknowingly hard into the fresh wound.

Phantom screamed in pain, collapsing to his hands and knees. Wes jerked backwards, hand already going numb from the green blood that had splattered from the wound on his fingers. Light flashed and flickered around them as Phantom disappeared. When it faded, Fenton - red blood now rapidly staining the back of his shirt - knelt on the ground in front of Wes.

"Drop him?" the ghost purred. "I suppose I could do that."

Fenton's head jerked upwards as the ghost loosened her claws. He made a half-movement forwards, stopped only because the action ended with him face-planting on the roof with a painful groan. Mikey let out a terrified yelp, but he only fell a few inches before the ghost tightened her grip again with a laugh. Wes stood perfectly still, trembling, holding his numbed hand against his chest and staring at the bloody Fenton.

"Or… perhaps you are reconsidering my offer." The ghost smirked, clearly on the winning end of this.

Fenton wasn't moving. Wes stared at him, waiting for the boy to turn into Phantom again and destroy this ghost, waiting for him to go save Mikey, waiting…

The door to the roof slammed open, two other teenagers spilling out onto the tar. Both were breathing heavily and sweaty - they'd likely taken the stairs - but before anyone could react, they both had weapons trained on the ghost. "Spectra," Manson growled. "Shoulda known. Bertrand's not smart enough to get out of the Zone without help."

Foley was taking slow steps to the side, working his way towards Wes. Wes glanced at Fenton, then at Fenton's friends. "Mikey-"

"I see it," Foley said quietly. "How's Danny?"

Fenton didn't react to the question at all - not even a twitch or a groan. Wes took that as a bad sign. He tried to come up with an answer, but his brain wasn't working right. Instead, his eyes slipped back to Mikey, who looked like he was about to pass out, and just stood there. He didn't know what to do.

The ghost's eyes were narrowed and focused on Manson. "You come too close, girl, I'll drop him."

"Go ahead," Manson said dismissively. The weapon in her hand whined with a high-pitched shriek. "You hurt my friend. I'm going to hurt you, regardless."

"Sam…" Foley said warningly. The boy had edged past Wes and was kneeling next to Fenton, gently touching his shoulder. Wes dazedly wondered if Foley's hand was going numb too. "As few deaths as possible, if you please."

The ghost drifted slightly side to side, looking slightly unnerved by the two newcomers. "All I want is the boy," she said. "You can have all the humans. Just let me have the boy."

"No." Manson's voice was hard. "Say, goodbye, Spectra." Her hand squeezed.

Wes opened his mouth to scream as Manson's gun erupted. A blast of green smeared towards Spectra, seeming to rip open a hole in the air as it went. Spectra shrieked, for some reason getting yanked forwards and into the hole carved by Manson's blast. She dropped Mikey, who'd also been dragged slightly forwards. His arms pinwheeled in the air, snagging hold of the roof's edge, but just barely, and started to slip.

But Foley was already sprinting forwards - and so, somehow, was Fenton. The two of them reached Mikey at the same time, each grabbing an arm and jerking the boy back onto the safety of the roof before he'd slipped more than a few inches. Mikey tumbled to the ground, completely unconscious.

The ghost's screaming vanished, the rip in the air closed, and silence descended onto the roof.

Wes stumbled to the side a step before dropping to his knees. The world was shaking. No… he was shaking. He felt deliriously close to passing out. He blinked a few times, then started as he heard a fierce sort of whine right next to his head. Slowly, he turned to look. Manson was there, her weapon again charged, this time pointed at him from six inches away.

"Sam," came Fenton's tired voice. "Really?"

"Camera," Sam snapped.

Wes stared at her, not comprehending the word.

She leaned forwards, her eyes snapping with fury. "Camera," she hissed, this time snatching it from Wes's hand. He winced away from the sharp movement. He hadn't even realized the camera was still in his hand; he'd forgotten all about it. She set the camera on the ground and stepped on it - hard - with the heel of her boot. Pieces flew everywhere. Again and again her boot came down.

Wes just watched blankly, still stunned by the turn of events.

Manson finally stopped, still glaring at him but letting the charge in her weapon die away. She turned to Fenton. "Let's get you home and bandaged up," she said. She sounded strangely mothering, at least compared to the pure rage of two seconds earlier.

Foley had been quietly checking over Mikey. "Mikey'll be fine," Foley said, rocking back on his heels, "but he'll have some story to tell."

"Mmmm," Fenton agreed. He was sitting on the ground, looking pale. "Nobody'll believe him, though." Blue eyes trained on Wes. "Think you can get him home alright?"

Wes blinked at Fenton. Phantom. Fenton. Then at Mikey. Then at Foley and Manson.

"I take that as a yes," Fenton said with an exhausted grin. He groaned as he got to his feet. "See you later, Wes. Give my regards to Mikey when he wakes up. I wanna play that game he's been working on."

"We can't just leave him to talk," Manson said, but she was up next to Fenton in just a moment, propping her shoulder under his arm to take some of his weight. "Danny, seriously."

"Then go throw him back over the edge," Fenton said exasperatedly. "I'm going home. Tuck?"

Foley stood up, dusting off his hands. "You gonna take a shower? And am I going to get fed, as I gave up my number three Nasty Meal for this?" Wes didn't catch the answer, but it seemed to satisfy Foley. "I suppose I can make that work, then."

Wes watched as Foley came over and took most of Fenton's weight, steering the teen towards the door leading to the stairs. Manson ducked out from under the arm, staring at Mikey with a dark look to her eyes. After the display with the camera and how she reacted at school, Wes could see her chucking defenseless, unconscious Mikey over the edge.

For the first time in several minutes, Wes found the ability to move. He struggled to his feet and stumbled over to his friend, dropping painfully down between Manson and Mikey. "Leave him alone."

"Let me be very clear to you," Manson said, her voice low and dark. Behind her, Foley and Fenton disappeared through the door. Wes shivered, for some reason more scared of the Goth than he had been of the ghost. "If either of you talk, I will destroy you. You think you're good with a camera? Wait until you see the blackmail I've been storing up on the two of you."

Wes leaned backwards, unconsciously pulling his shoulders up around his ears.

"Relay the message for me," she finished, spinning on her heel and stalking off the roof. The door slammed shut behind her.

Wes sat there, shivering slightly, staring at the combination of green and red blood smeared on the rooftop. Long minutes passed before Mikey groaned and rolled over, blinking blearily around for a moment before the events of the afternoon came back to him. He yelped and jerked upright, nearly bashing his head into Wes's. "What happened? Where'd the ghost go? Where'd everybody go?"

Wes just continued to sit there, ignoring his friend's questions.

"Wes? Wes, let's get out of here."

He felt Mikey's hands jerk on his shirt. Like he was in a daze, he slowly rolled to his feet. He took a few wobbly steps forwards, Mikey by his side and babbling questions endlessly into the silent air. Stopping next to the remains of Mikey's camera, he crouched down and sifted through the rubble. There - still miraculously in one piece - was the tiny memory card.

"Come on, Wes. I'm leaving."

Wes allowed Mikey to pull him towards the stairs, onto the elevator, and back out onto the street. He walked slowly towards home, Mikey by his side, and slowly started answering the boy's pestering questions without putting any thought into them. The memory card burned hot in his pocket, consuming his thoughts.

It wasn't until Wes was alone in his room, Mikey returned safely home, that he pulled out the memory card. He dropped onto his bed on his back, turning the memory card over and over in his fingers, watching the sunlight reflect off the tiny copper connections. Then he glanced at his computer and grinned.


	30. Wes's Stakeout - Wes

Wes's Stakeout

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

The Fentons finally weren't home. He'd been staking out the house most of the weekend, camped out in a small tent in old man Gurket's backyard, waiting for his opportunity. But just minutes ago, he'd watched all four of them pile into their strange van and roar off down the street.

"You done mowing yet?" came a hoarse yell. It was the old man, who poked his head out of the back door every few hours to ask the same question.

"NO!" Wes yelled back, kicking the unused (and wouldn't ever be if he had a say in it) mower out of spite, before he jumped over the fence and crossed the street. He grinned manically. The front door was solid and unmoving, but Wes happily dug a key out of his pocket and slit it into the lock.

It wasn't breaking and entering if some idiot just left the key lying around to be found, right? Mr. Fenton was just begging for someone to come rob him.

Wes scoured the house from the top down. Some rooms got quick glances. Danny's room was carefully searched from ceiling to floor, although the 'under the bed' space was ignored after Wes glanced at all the garbage and decided to classify venturing there asnot worth it.

He found plenty of oddities, that was sure. Weapons in various states of disarray. Pictures of ghosts. Files full of paperwork that seemed (at least in his mind) to be about ghosts, but not anything Fenton or his friends would have been able to write. Computers locked tight with passwords that he couldn't crack. Nothing incriminating. Nothing that screamed that Fenton was Phantom.

It was almost like Fenton wasn't Phantom… or perhaps that Fenton hadn't told his family about his ghostly secret. Wes figured he knew which of those two theories was probably correct, if only he could prove it.

He stood in the kitchen, a full half-hour after his initial break-in, hands on his hips, glaring around the stained-but-clean space. An entire weekend wasted. He'd slept in that stupid tent overnight and had nothing to show for it. No proof that Fenton was Phantom. Nothing even remotely pointing in that direction.

Then his eyes fell on another door. It was probably just a pantry, but he'd come all this way. It was worth it to check. He dejectedly slunk over, jerked on the handle and - to his surprise - found a set of stairs leading into a basement. "Sweet," he whispered. He took a second to glance out the window (still no sign of Fentons coming back) and let himself into the basement.

His mouth dropped open when he flipped on the light. Concrete and metal was everywhere. Tables and shelves were filled with crap. Boxes littered the floor. Green goop sat in beakers here and there, stained the floor, and dripped from half-destroyed piles of cardboard.

"What in the Hell…?" He slowly walked across the floor, studying things but not touching them. The whole place looked like some sort of science lab. With years of science classes drilling the safety procedure into his head, Wes snagged a pair of goggles sitting on a table and put them on. "This place is crazy."

Completely forgetting what he was actually in the house for, Wes spent a good fifteen minutes just examining the mess in the Fentons' basement. He picked up a few things that looked exceptionally neat. Posing for a moment with something that looked like a bazooka, Wes momentarily wished he'd brought a friend with to snap a picture. How cool would it be to have a picture with some of this crap?

Setting down the latest weapon he'd picked up, Wes winced as he remembered why he was searching through the Fentons' basement. He set out with a new purpose, slinking from one table to another in search of any sort of incriminating evidence. If Fenton was Phantom, there had to be proof somewhere in his house - and what better place to keep it than the creepy basement laboratory?

But there was nothing. No pictures. No stories. Just junk and green goop and shiny weapons.

Oh… and a hole in the wall.

Wes caught sight of it - a blank, round space where the wall had been carved away. "What is this?" he whispered, walking forwards to peer at the strange thing. The hole was almost fifteen feet deep and dug into the foundation of the house. Wires were strung everywhere. On the floor sat a small laptop with a program running - it looked like one of those installation programs where the little progress bar slowly moved across the screen.

"Okay, Fenton, it's official. Your parents are freaky." He turned around, studying the lab, and then glanced back at the laptop. It was the only computer in the house that was unlocked.

He looked at the wires and mess of cables that were strewn across the portal in between him and the laptop. His best chance of finding evidence about Fenton was on a computer. And there - less than ten feet away - lay a computer he could access.

Mind made up, Wes crept into the strange hole, being careful to not touch the wires and cables. Like a ninja, he managed to make his way to the laptop without disturbing whatever the Fentons were doing. He crouched down, fiddling with the trackpad and minimizing the installation.

For the next ten minutes, he dug through the files. He found quite a few things. There was an entire folder marked 'Phantom'. It quickly became very clear that whoever created the file (likely Fenton's parents) didn't know that Phantom was their son. He smirked to himself and pushed the slipping goggles back up his nose, storing that bit of blackmail for later. He kept looking; maybe the elder Fentons had something on their son they didn't know they had.

Upstairs, a door slammed shut.

Wes froze, staring at the stairs with a pale face. He really hadn't been planning on getting caught. He'd figured he'd have found his evidence and be long gone before the family got back from wherever it was they'd gone. "Shit, shit, shit," he whispered, putting the installation program back on the main screen.

In his panic, he twisted around and forgot about the wires. His feet got caught up and tangled. With a startled yelp, he fell against the side of the hole.

There was a click. A whine. A flash of light…


	31. Shut Down - Danny

Shut Down

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

On Monday, the elder Fentons shut down their Portal into the æther.

.

On Tuesday morning, Danny Fenton woke up to screaming. Not his own – not even screaming that could be classified as human – but screaming nonetheless.

He rolled over and glared at his alarm clock. It read just a touch before five in the morning. Groaning, curling into a ball, and stuffing his hands into his ears didn't stop the noise. It wasn't really a noise anyways. It was a high-pitched, horrid scream that echoed through his entire body. Only one creature in the world could be making that sort of not-sound.

"God help me," Danny moaned, pushing himself out of bed and stretching. "I just went to bed…" His joints creaked and popped, then vanished in a swirl of white light. Weight vanished. Warmth vanished. Tiredness vanished.

Well, mostly vanished. There was a strange, empty, pulling feeling that made Danny want to crawl back into bed.

It took him only minutes to search out the source of the sound. A small ghost of a girl that Danny usually spotted hanging out near the ice cream stand. The girl was generally quiet and unassuming and hidden, allowing Danny to just leave her alone. Today though, she was not at all hard to find. Her dress was unusually tattered, her hair hanging limp, green pooling around her like a hazy mist. She was standing in the middle of the street, staring upwards, screaming.

"Shut up!" he snapped, landing in front of her. He took two steps forwards, then stopped. That odd pulling feeling in his chest seemed to have found something to latch onto – it reached towards the girl.

The girl broke off her screaming to stare at him. Her eyes were dull and sunken. Her skin seemed to hang loosely on her.

"What's wrong?" Danny didn't step forwards. The feeling inside him was unwelcome and dangerous. He wasn't sure what it was, but he didn't like it, and it seemed to be stronger the closer he got to the girl.

"Can't you feel that?" she whispered.

Of course Danny could feel something, but he wasn't sure that's what she was referring to. "Feel what?"

"Doom…" The girl blinked her eyes at him, silent and staring.

Danny had spent the better part of two years getting doomed and gloomed by most of the ghosts he'd run into. He'd come to the conclusion that only a few ghosts were actually violent – most seemed to be just depressed. "Awesome," he said. "Feel like keeping the screaming down?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You'll be screaming too," she said, dark and mysterious, but faded away with a quiet, "Just you wait."

Danny waited around for a few minutes of silence, then yawned and headed home and tunneled back into his bed for two more hours of sleep before being dragged off to school.

.

On Wednesday Danny woke up feeling weird. He wandered down to the kitchen, searching through the cupboards for something to eat. Food galore met his gaze – his mother had just been shopping – but nothing caught his interest. He rubbed at his chest, stuck with an empty-stomach feeling somewhere around his heart. Lost and not sure what to make of the sensation, he left for school.

The feeling only intensified throughout the school day. Finding it impossible to focus, Danny abandoned his friends during lunch period for a fly around town.

In ghost form, the strange, hollow, hungry feeling was ten times worse. Gritting his teeth, Danny took to the air and zipped towards the main section of town. There were usually a few of the quieter ghosts hanging around. Some of them could be counted on to answer Danny's more supernatural sorts of questions.

The ghost Danny honed in on liked to be called Doug. Danny wasn't entirely sure how or when Doug came to be – or even what Doug really was – but the ghost was more friendly than not. Doug also had a strange but highly detailed set of knowledge about the ghost world. Little more than a shadow, Doug hung around the movie theater.

Prowling through the empty screening rooms, it took Danny a few minutes to locate the shadow. "Doug," he greeted. Again, just like with the girl ghost, there was this strange pulling feeling towards the shadow ghost. It was much stronger today than it had been yesterday. Danny had to fight to keep from stepping closer to the ghost.

"King," the ghost murmured.

Danny wasn't sure why most of the ghosts that lived in his town had taken to calling himking. He'd asked a number of times, but even the ones used to his odd questions always just looked at him strangely and shook their heads. "There's something wrong," Danny said, crossing his legs and settling down in the air.

"Yes," Doug answered. Flickers of green eyes against black were the only things that showed of Doug's features. "Is that why you're here?"

The ghost sounded somewhat troubled. Danny didn't understand why. "Yes." Danny watched the ghost's eyes narrow in some odd sort of ghost emotion, but Danny just pressed forwards with his question. "What is it?"

Those narrowed eyes widened. "You do not know?"

Danny glanced around the empty theater. "Should I?"

"You are young, King."

Confused by the non sequitur, Danny frowned. "What is this feeling? This…" He pressed a hand to his chest, right where that hollowness was.

There wasn't an answer for a long, quiet moment. "That is hunger, King."

"I'm hungry? Hungry for what?" Danny stared down at his chest, then up at Doug. "I'm a ghost. Ghosts don't eat."

"The human word is, perhaps, inappropriate. Varneosu, we call it." Doug moved, pacing quietly along the wall. "Ghosts do not eat, young King, but we do require energy to exist. Without that influx of energy, we consume ourselves until we no longer exist. Varneosuis what you are feeling."

"Oh." Danny let his hand fall from his chest. "So I'm not getting enough energy?"

Doug nodded, a swish of shadow against shadow. "The source is gone. The riogin."

Danny cocked his head to the side. Doug had been teaching Danny some of the basic ghost language over the past year. He'd heard that word before. "Riogin? The portal? Yeah. My parents turned it off." He waved his hand. "They're doing some sort of update."

"As the flowers will wither with the sun gone dry, will we follow without the source."

Frowning, Danny tried to make sense of the strange phrase. "Flowers?" he asked. "What do flowers have to do with me being hungry?"

"We are all hungry, King."

"I'm confused," he confessed, swiveling to watch as Doug slipped towards the darkest corner of the room.

Doug peered back at him, green eyes sunken much further than usual into the darkness. "I shall be here when you are no longer such. You are King. I will be here."

Danny sat in the room, alone and lost, before the alarm on his phone let him know he had just minutes to get to class before he got his umpteen-hundredth tardy of the year. Back in class – and just slightly late – he rubbed at his chest and tried to think through what the ghost had said.

Flowers?

.

On Thursday, Danny was feeling so horrible that he stayed home from school. He prowled aimlessly through the house, desperate for something – anything – to take away this hollow feeling of varneosu that was clawing at his chest.

It was only ten in the morning when his mother started to snap at him. "Why did you stay home if you can't sit still?" she asked, exasperated with his constant wandering.

"I don't feel good," he muttered, unable to explain the emptiness in his chest.

"You don't look good, that's why I let you stay home." His mother set down the device she was working on. It was likely a piece of the Portal. "Why don't you go take a nap?"

Danny didn't want to take a nap. He wanted to… he wanted to…

He scowled and wandered out of the kitchen and into the back yard, determined to leave his mother alone for at least a short while. Finding a spot on the back step, Danny sat down, propped his chin on his hands, and tried to find something to look at to keep his mind occupied.

He failed. His thoughts kept returning to the horrible, clawing feeling digging deeper and deeper into his chest.

Eventually he got fed up and got to his feet, stalking towards the garage. Maybe there was something there. Something to keep his busy, or something to stop this feeling, or something…

The garage was filled with stacked boxes of junk, teetering piles of old technology, and crates of old research and papers his parents refused to digitize or recycle. Danny stalked between the worst of the piles, rubbing at his chest and wishing he had some sort of answer for what was wrong with him. "This is stupid," he murmured. "I'm just… hungry. What does a ghost eat?"

He'd asked himself that question any number of times in the past twenty-four hours. There wasn't any sort of answer to that, other than the fact that ghosts don't eat. He'd even gotten up the nerve to ask his parents – both of whom had looked at him strangely and replied that ghosts don't have digestive systems.

Walking around in yet another circle of the messy garage – at least he could wander here to his heart's content without his mother snapping at him – Danny sighed. His options were dwindling. He could go back to Doug. He could try to track down one of the local ghosts, although few of them were willing to share information with him and, to be honest, Danny was trying his hardest to not go into ghost mode until he had this figured out and he'd need to be a ghost to find the others.

He could always call Vlad.

Danny froze mid-step at the thought. Vlad had defected from town mayor several months ago after some controversy over his business tactics and had moved back to Wisconsin. Danny pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts until he found Vlad's number, filed under 'Evil Fruitloop'.

Then he turned the phone off and stuffed it back into his pocket. He wasn't that hungry. Or varneosu. Or whatever.

It was on his sixth or seventh (or maybe eighth) pass around the garage that he bumped a particularly teetering pile of defunct technology. There was a creak and a groan and an incredibly loud crash as bits of metal and plastic scattered over the garage floor.

Danny winced and froze, waiting to hear if his parents had heard that. Even though the tech was old and unused, hair would fly if they found out Danny had damaged it. After a few moments of silence – no slamming doors, no calls of 'what happened?' – Danny relaxed and started grabbing things and putting them back sort of where they'd been.

One of the ectoguns still had a small ectoplasm cartridge in it. Danny didn't realize that the cartridge had broken until his hand came away gooey with glowing green slime. "Yuck," he muttered, staring down at his fingers.

Had Danny been human, the ectoplasm would have been burning his fingers. Instead, he just found the goo to be cold and tingly. "Great," he sighed. Rubbing his hand on his clothes would just stain them, and generally the ectoplasm burned holes through the fabric. Setting the broken ectogun on a box (ignoring the way the dripping ectoplasm started to eat away at the cardboard) Danny debated what to do with this hand.

Something inside of him chose. Without thinking, without even questioning what he was doing, Danny stuck his finger into his mouth. The ectoplasm was cold on his tongue and tasted of copper and mud. Danny's nose wrinkled in disgust.

But then…

The hollowness inside of Danny's chest caught the taste. It dug into his chest with claws sharp enough to cause Danny to gasp and double over in agony. "Awwww," he groaned, sinking to his knees.

Not enough. Not enough. More.

As the pain faded, Danny straightened and stared at his hand. His mouth was watering with saliva. The feeling inside of his chest was demanding, incessant, pounding.

More.

Unable to come up with any reason not to, Danny licked his hand clean. Then he dug out the ectogun and carefully cleaned out what was left of the ecto-cartridge. With frantic little motions of his hands, he pawed through the rest of his parents defunct technology, coming up with only two other ectoplasm cartridges. It took minutes to drain them.

And still he was hungry. Only now he knew what he was hungry for. His ghost was starving for the only sort of energy that ghosts could use – ectoplasmic energy. Varneosu. Hunger.

Leaving the rustled-through technology scattered on the garage floor, Danny headed back to the house. Invisible, he slipped past his mother and into the basement lab, intending to track down some more of those ectoplasm cartridges. He wasn't entirely sure how healthy it was for his human form to be eating ectoplasm, but he wasn't particularly in the mood to care at the moment.

Making his way to the basement, Danny stalked around, his eyes searching desperately for those ectoplasm samples. He paused next to the Portal, startled to feel the faintestpull towards the Portal.

The green was gone, the comforting swirl and pulse of energy absent. It was nothing more than shiny technology and a shadowed hole in the wall. He raised his hand, holding it against the plane where the green would have been.

Sun to flowers. Ghosts to riogin.

Danny snorted softly as he understood what Doug had been trying to say. Flowers get energy from the sun. Ghosts get energy from the Portal. When his parents shut it down, they had cut off the energy source for the ghosts in Amity Park – including Danny. All the ghosts were starving.

Shaking himself, Danny walked away from the Portal and rounded up eight more ectoplasm cartridges and carted them up to his room. Safe within the privacy of his room, the door locked, Danny unscrewed them and swallowed the contents. By the time he'd drained all of them, the hunger clawing at his chest had faded.

Sitting on his bed, staring at the little drips of ectoplasm that had burned holes in his bedspread, surrounded by ectoplasm cartridges his parents would no doubt be screaming about having disappeared in a few hours, Danny yawned. Sleepy tiredness pulled at him.

Not bothering to clean up the mess, Danny laid back on his pillow, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

.

On Friday, Danny skulked through the lab and located three more ectoplasm cartridges before the sun rose. Two were quickly downed. The hunger had come back very quickly after having been satiated the previous morning, and Danny had sat up and stewed in his bed for several hours before giving in and heading to the basement.

The third went into his pocket. Even though it wasn't quite time for him to be getting up, Danny made his bed – trying to cover the worst of the burn marks – and headed down the stairs.

"Hey Mom," he said, poking his head into the kitchen.

His mother looked up at him, then glanced at the clock on the wall with a startled look on her face. "Why are you up so early?"

"I'm feeling better," he said. "I'm going to go to Tucker's house early and get my missing assignments."

A cocked, disbelieving eyebrow was the answer to that. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

Danny rolled his eyes. After his grades tanking the last two years, there was every reason for his mother to be doubtful that he was going to be the dutiful student for once. And, to be honest, Danny wasn't going to Tucker's house. "I'll be home on time," he called over his shoulder. Then paused and walked back to the kitchen. "When are you guys going to have the Portal back up?"

"Probably early next week," she murmured, looking through some sort of paper in front of her. "Why?"

"No reason, just curious." Danny shot a grin in her direction and headed through the house to the front door.

"Call if you need to come home early," came her voice as he pulled on his shoes and raced out the front door.

"Kay!" The door slammed behind him and Danny trotted through town. He had several questions, and knew the best place to get answers. It took twenty minutes to reach the old movie theater, and only two to locate the room where Doug was hiding. "Doug?"

"King," the ghost's voice was a whisper. Danny had to look around for several long seconds before he spotted the ghost. The shadow was barely visible, his green eyes dull and almost as dark as the shadows themselves.

"Here," Danny said, digging through his pocket and pulling out the cartridge. "I brought this for you." Screwing off the top, he held out the ectoplasm.

Doug was quiet, his shadow shifting uneasily from side to side. "What is it?"

"Food." Danny poured a little on his hand, then brought it to his mouth and licked it off. "See?" He blinked, startled by the gnawing feeling of hollowness in his chest at the small bit of food.

The shadow stayed where he was, head cocked slightly to the side. "You… brought me food?"

"Yeah." Danny nodded and took a small step forwards. "I figured out what you were trying to say, about the Portal and being hungry. So you're hungry too, right? I brought you…"

He trailed off when Doug slunk further away from him. "You are odd, King," Doug muttered.

"My parents will have the Portal up again next week," Danny said. "I can find enough food to last until then. Here." He poured some of the ectoplasm into his hand. "Try some."

Doug hovered back and forth for a moment, but then drifted closer. A small piece of shadow broke away from the larger mass and reached down to touch the ectoplasm pooled in Danny's hand. The greenish goo swirled and vanished and the shadow seemed to solidify.

"See?" Danny grinned and looked down at the cartridge in his hand. It was almost half empty. "I brought more-"

"King."

Danny blinked and looked up at him. "What?"

"This is not food; you shouldn't eat too much of it. It will make you very sick." Doug's eyes were slightly brighter.

"What's wrong with it?" Danny glanced at the cartridge. The ectoplasm looked just fine, oozing slowly back and forth in the small container. "My parents purified it and everything."

The shadow reached forwards and there was the soft, cold brush of feathers against his skin. "Do not eat any more of this, King. I ask you that."

Danny's hand dropped. "But… what will we eat, then? My parents won't have the Portal back up for days…"

There was silence in the small room. "You will figure it out. You are odd, but you are smart. Your instincts will feed you when you are ready to listen to them."

"But you-"

"Do not worry about me. You are King. I am Doug." The shadow slipped further into the darkness. "Do not poison yourself further."

Danny stared at the half-empty ectoplasm cartridge in his hand. He was hungry. This was food… wasn't it? But he trusted Doug, in the vague way that one could trust a ghost. Finally the word, "Okay," wormed out of his mouth.

When he looked up, Doug was gone. Confused and not sure what to do next, Danny wandered out of the movie theater and headed to school.

.

On Saturday Danny managed to not eat any of the ectoplasm samples in his parents' basement – but only barely. The emptiness in his chest came back with a vengeance, and Danny felt even worse than had earlier in the week.

He spent half of the day lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, and half the day prowling anxiously through the house. He couldn't come up with anything to do other than wander around in search of something he couldn't find.

He didn't sleep that night.

.

On Sunday afternoon, Danny broke. His careful control on the hollowness clawing around inside of him snapped and, unable to take a second more of the feeling, Danny finally allowed his ghost to take over.

It was with a desperate sense of purpose that Danny transformed into a ghost and flashed away from his house. His eyes scanned the ground, searching for something that Danny's human mind couldn't quite comprehend – but Danny's ghost very clearly knew.

Left and right, back and forth, he hunted. Food was clearly on his mind. Something to eat, but what? People wandered around below him, little mortal ants scrambling around on a flat world. They weren't food.

Ice cream shop. Ghost girl.

Danny was in front of her in a moment. His body was trembling, but he didn't know why. The emptiness in his chest was screaming.

The girl looked horrible, ragged and weak and dull. "King," she whispered, standing still, her dirty dress waving in a nonexistent breeze. Fear swirled on her face.

He attacked without a word. His fingers reached forwards like claws, slamming into her and pressing her against the ground. Crouched over her, ignoring her wide, terrified eyes, Danny slammed his hand into her chest.

…through her chest…

Something glowing and green and beautiful caught between his fingers. He tore it from her, pulled it to his mouth, and sucked on it, chewed on it, swallowed it. Her screams were nothing to his ears, lost in the swirl of his mind.

He went back for more and more, tearing chunks out of her as she thrashed and writhed on the ground. His body was stained with her ectoplasm. His hair splattered with a glowing substance that matted it against his head.

It wasn't until she dissolved away, leaving nothing but a slowly dissolving mist of green, that Danny sat back and licked at his hands. Ectoplasm leached down his arms, pooled at his elbows, and dripped to the ground.

And then his human mind kicked back in. Danny froze, his tongue halfway up one finger.

He could taste her. He could feel the energy from her soothing the worst of the aches and pains in his chest. He knew that the ectoplasm splashed on his body was slowly being absorbed into his ghost – feeding him.

"Oh… God…" Danny stumbled backwards, eyes wide, leaving ectoplasm footprints on the ground. "I… I… I just…"

He looked around in a dead panic. They were behind the ice cream stand – nobody had seen anything. Besides, they were ghosts. Humans couldn't see them on a normal basis anyways. Body trembling, human mind abut to burst into a frenzy, he flung himself into the air.

"No, no, no, no…" He thought about calling Sam, then Tucker, and even Vlad – but his mind settled on something as he caught sight of the movie theater.

The rooms were full of people watching Sunday matinees, but Danny found the shadowed Doug anyways. "I just ate someone," Danny hissed, landing next to Doug. He was still shaking, still unable to comprehend that he'd just eaten a ghost.

Doug looked at him. The shadow looked like little more than a wisp. "That is what Kings do," Doug said.

"You knew? You knew I'd…" Danny trailed off, shaking his head and running a hand through his clumped-up hair. "I'd…"

"You are hungry. We are food." Doug's voice was very matter-of-fact. "When you get hungry again, you will eat again, King."

"I… I… I don't… I don't want to eat ghosts!" Danny's voice was a bit loud, and it caused several movie-goers to twist around to stare into the shadows.

Doug didn't answer. In fact, Danny couldn't see the shadow anywhere.

"Doug?" Danny spun around a few times, even closed his eyes and focused to see if he could sense the errant spirit. After several futile minutes, Danny slunk out of the movie theater, turned human, and sulked towards home.

At least the worst of the gunk vanished when he turned human. There were still sticky spots in his hair, but they weren't really noticeable.

Two blocks from home he stopped. The ice cream stand – crowded with people on a lazy fall weekend – was just on the other side of the street. Danny could so easily remember what had gone on there just fifteen minutes ago. As a matter of fact, Danny could still sense the ghost girl, just a slight bit.

It made his stomach churn. If he'd have eaten any human food that day, he likely would have thrown his breakfast and lunch back up.

Queasy, Danny made a four-block detour. By the time he made his way back into his home, he'd been gone for quite some time.

"Dann-o!" his father called. "Want to play cards with Mads and me?"

Danny shook his head and hurried up to his room. Shutting the door firmly behind him, he found the darkest corner of his closet, pulled a blanket up around his shoulders, and curled up into a ball. Phone in hand, he debated whether to call Sam or Tucker… or Vlad. Or if he should talk to his parents. Or if he should just run away and be done with it.

When his mother called him down for supper, he said he wasn't hungry. His mom found him curled up in the closet, fussed around concerned about him, and made him get into his bed. Pulling the covers up around him, she said, "You've been off all week. You should just get some sleep and it'll all be better in the morning."

Danny wasn't sure he agreed with her, but he didn't argue. He closed his eyes and slept.


	32. Government Hoops - Maddie, Jack

Government Hoops

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

"It's easy," the guy said. He was nothing more than a pencil-pusher and Maddie hadn't bothered to remember his name long enough to finish the conversation. "You just gotta check a box and sign your name, I hand you the check, and you go home."

Maddie glanced uneasily at her husband and shifted in the hard chair. "Without actually seeing the subject in question."

"It's right there on the screen." The man pointed at the video, which showed a white-haired, green-eyed teenage boy slouching on a bench, then slid a form across his messy desk. "It's a ghost. Sign please." He shoved a pen towards Maddie.

"I just don't understand why you called me all the way down here to sign this." She picked up the form, reading over the tiny words. It was a form declaring that the subject was a ghost, and thus not guaranteed any normal human rights. She'd never heard of such a form before, and she was something of an expert on filing forms related to ghost experiments.

The man sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose. "We can't legally experiment on anything until an expert signs off that it's a ghost. It's just a form and a signature. It means nothing - you're just close and convenient and our normal expert is in Albania."

Maddie pressed her lips together. The whole situation stank of government red tape. The phone call out of the blue several hours ago, the rush to get them here, just for a signature on a form that meant nothing.

"They just want to start their experiment today, and they need your signature to do that. It really doesn't mean anything. It's just a hoop to jump through."

Looking up into his bland face, Maddie handed the form to her husband and went back to staring at the tiny video monitor. The office was full of paper and filing cabinets, beige walls and plastic ceiling tiles, with a small bank of five-inch screens behind the desk. Most showed scenes of hallways and doors; only one showed the inside of a room.

"What's its name?" Jack asked. Maddie could hear the reservation in Jack's voice – he'd caught the whiff of something wrong too. That only strengthened her resolve to not put her name to something until she understood for sure what was going on.

"Haven't asked. Don't care. It's just a ghost."

"I'll need to examine it myself," Maddie said.

"I don't think-" the man started, but cut off when Maddie swiveled her gaze from the screen to him. Behind the glasses, his eyes were wide and uncertain.

Taking advantage of his uncertainty, Maddie raised her chin and straightened her shoulders before getting to her feet. "I'll just need a few minutes," she said briskly, taking the form from Jack's hands and handing it back with a smile. "I'm sure you'll show us the way and we'll be out of your hair in no time."

The government employee actually got out of his chair and took a step towards the door before he hesitated. "You're not authorized-"

"I'm not putting my signature to a form when I haven't examined the specimen myself." She headed towards the door, Jack right behind her. As she reached for the doorknob, she heard the man hurry around the desk to follow them. "You understand, I'm sure," Maddie soothed. "Legal liabilities. It'll just take a few minutes."

She held the door to allow her husband to walk through first. He gave her a not-so-subtle wink. The government man followed as well, still hesitating every few feet and glancing back at his office. "This is unusual," he said, finally capitulating and leading the way. "Dr. Profren just looks at the monitor and signs off on it."

Jack hummed. "We're not Dr. Profren," he said. "We're better."

"We'll see," the man murmured. He pushed open a door and directed them down a hallway, stopping at a desk partway down and collecting a folder. With a 'follow me' gesture made mostly with his shoulder, the man paged through the file and headed further down the hallway, muttering under his breath the whole way.

"There's something fishy going on," Jack whispered to her.

"Got that," she answered quietly. "They're in such a hurry to experiment on this ghost. I wonder why?"

The man interrupted their chatter. "Here. Room eight." He closed the folder and frowned at them. "This says it calls itself 'Phantom', and it's rated as a level seven entity. The cuffs on its arms should prevent it from doing anything to you."

Maddie arched a surprised eyebrow. "A level seven?" The level system currently in use by the government was logarithmic – level seven ghosts were rare and uniquely powerful.

"Another reason why you should just sign the form and call it good." The man stared at them, apparently baffled by their demand to see the ghost. "It's dangerous."

"I'm not signing a form until I examine it myself." Maddie pulled herself to her full height – just a few inches shy of the pencil-pushing employee she was trying to intimidate. "Open the door."

With a scowl, the man typed in his code. The light above the door turned green and there was the click of the lock. "A few minutes," he said – although it came out more as a question than an order.

Nodding, Maddie breezed past him, snatching the folder out of his arms before he could protest, and slipped into the room, Jack on her heels. She stopped just inside the room, allowing the door to click shut behind them. All around was the dull, nerve-jangling buzz of a ghost shield in place.

The boy was definitely not human. Its hair was a snowy white, its eyes an electric, swirling green no human could imitate. Black clothes – although disheveled and torn – set off its pale skin, and thick electronic manacles circled its lower arms. Its face and arms were covered in bruises and scratches and its skin seemed to cling to muscle and bone like it hadn't eaten properly in a long time. Oddly, the normal aura of a ghost was missing.

"What do you want?" the boy asked, sounding tired and empty.

"My name is Jack Fenton," Jack said, stepping forwards. "This is my wife, Maddie. We're here to examine you."

"Yay," the ghost muttered, pulling its knees up to its chest and resting its chin on its knees. "More scientists."

Maddie looked around the small room – empty save for the bench and a few broken chairs – then opened the folder she'd borrowed. Charts and lines of scribbled notes showed that they hadn't held off experimenting on the boy while waiting for the Fentons to sign a form. The data was pretty far from normal, though. She pursed her lips and ran her finger over some of the weirder data points. What would cause that?

"It'll just take a few minutes and we'll leave you alone," Jack was saying, his voice trying to sound pleasant. "You mind standing up?"

"I mind," the ghost said darkly, eyes glittering in the fluorescent lights. "Go away."

When Jack moved to take another step forwards, Maddie reached out and touched his arm. Jack stopped. With a mental shrug, she decided to go for broke and just say the thoughts swirling around in her mind. "Question," Maddie said, looking up at the ghost, "the government called us here to sign a form legally stating that you are a ghost."

Green eyes peered at her, seeming confused by her not-question. "And?"

"Any idea why they would do that?"

The ghost picked up its head, shrugging. "Why does the government have any forms? They just do."

Maddie handed Jack the folder, subtly opening it to the page with the odd data and walked forwards, her arms crossed over her chest. "That's not what I mean and you know it," she said. "I experiment on ghosts every now and then. I've never heard of this form."

Behind them, the lock clicked. The pencil-pushing employee nervously stuck his head through the cracked-open door. "I-I-I need my folder back. And you need to leave."

"No," Maddie said.

"My boss called. You're not allowed to be in here-"

Jack caught her gaze, his eyes hard and a frown on his face. The data didn't make sense to him either. The form didn't make sense. Something was very definitely off. "A few minutes," she said, dismissing the man with a wave of her hand.

"I can't let you-"

Maddie had turned her gaze back to the ghost. It was staring at the man, then at her, a look of actual interest on its face. She decided to double-down on her decision to state the obvious. "There's something wrong about you, ghost," she said, watching the ghost's eyes widen. "And I'm not signing any sort of form until I know what that is."

Jack's quiet voice cut in. "Touch my wife I break your arm."

With a glance over her shoulder, she saw the government man had been reaching for her. He jerked his arm back. Jack would never actually break anyone's arm – he was gentle as a flea, for all his size – but Jack had always been good at playing bodyguard. It would be mostly up to Maddie to break things if it became necessary.

"He's coming down. You need to-"

"It would appear our time is limited," Maddie interrupted smoothly, addressing the ghost. "I would appreciate an answer."

"You can't-" the government man hissed.

The ghost peered at the man, the slight tick of its eyebrows and the smirk on its lips giving away that it was extremely interested in this turn of events. "I suppose," the ghost said, speaking slowly as if it were planning out its words, "that the government isn't entirely sure I am a ghost."

"No, no, no, no, no," was a constant litany from behind them.

"You're obviously a ghost," Jack said, confused.

"I look like a ghost," Phantom agreed, tipping its head slightly so the unruly white hair flopped over its inhuman eyes. Eyes covered, it looked amazingly human.

Maddie's forehead furrowed. "But the data in this file isn't normal," she finished. "You're obviously not a ghost like we've seen before."

There was a casual shrug. "You're the scientist," it said, pulling its knees closer to its chest. "You tell me."

The door banged open behind them. Maddie turned around, looking up into the irate face of the regional director. "Director Carson," she greeted, "thank you for the invitation to your lovely facility."

"You do not have clearance to be in here," the man grated. His eyes were nondescript behind thick, dark glasses.

She could feel Jack's comforting bulk just beside her. "I was asked to determine if this creature is a ghost. Obviously I would have to examine it; I assumed that came with the request."

"It did not." The gravelly voice echoed around the small room. "Sign the form, and leave." A piece of paper was ripped from the pencil-pusher's hand and stuffed in her direction. "Now, Mrs. Fenton." This was an order – an order given with, no doubt, several people on the other side of the door waiting to assist if that order wasn't followed.

"My mistake," she said, playing for time. "You could see why I would assume that." She pressed out some of the wrinkles in the form. "I was wondering if you could explain the purpose of the form. I was rather confused by your employee."

The director's lips were pressed in a tight line. "It is nothing more than a legal hoop to jump through. Government agencies can not experiment on any human–like entities until they have been proved to be ghosts."

Maddie's eye twitched. She still was missing something. This form didn't exist until extremely recently – she was sure of it. Why would the government suddenly need a form for this particular ghost? A ghost with odd data. A new type of ghost, perhaps, but still a ghost.

Unknowingly, Jack followed her mental process and completed it. "What's the other option? It's a ghost or…?"

"Human," the pencil-pusher cut in helpfully. "Those are the two options."

 _I suppose that the government isn't entirely sure I am a ghost._ Maddie stared down at the form, unable to look up, unwilling to give away the thought that had settled in her brain. No – that wasn't possible. She slowly turned to look at the ghost.

It wasn't glowing. It looked underfed and starved. Beyond its odd-colored hair and inhuman eyes… it very well could be human.

She didn't have even a second longer to contemplate it. Beefy hands wrapped around her arm and dragged her forcibly from the room. "Hey!" she said, jerking her arm free, but not before the door slammed shut behind them.

The director sent such a snarl towards his employee that the smaller man wilted and vanished up the hallway. As she had thought, nearly a dozen men – all armed in some way – lined the hallway. "It's a ghost. Sign the form."

"You're not sure," Maddie said, disregarding the men around her. "That's why you want to experiment on it. That's why you need this signed… just in case." She waved the little form.

"I am sure," the man growled, shoving a pen in her face. "Last chance. Sign the form."

Maddie reached for the pen and clicked it, her eyes never leaving the director's glasses. "What are you going to do to it? I'm curious." She shrugged slightly and smoothed the form, pretending to read the fine print. "Professional curiosity. Just to keep me from asking too many questions later."

Her actions towards signing the form must have lightened the director's mood slightly. "Dissect it. Try to learn from its unique function and form."

"Seems a little shortsighted," Jack cut in.

"Not saying you're doing anything wrong," Maddie said, going for pleasant as she checked the box on the form. "But we are the best in the field by a long shot… and it does seem to be the wrong way to do things."

The director wasn't falling for the chatter. He stayed quiet, arms across his chest. His white suit was perfectly pristine, his black hair slicked back against his skull.

Maddie found herself staring at a form she needed to sign that said the creature in this room was a ghost and could be dissected. It was obviously a ghost. Despite the odd data and the weird form, there was no possible way the ghost was human. She clicked the pen again, worrying her tongue between her teeth. She had no moral issues with experimenting on ghosts, but she wasn't one hundred percent sure this thing was a ghost.

"Mrs. Fenton," the director snapped.

She couldn't sign it. While she didn't believe that the creature in that room was human, she wasn't sure it was a ghost, and she couldn't condemn something she didn't understand to dissection. "You're doing this wrong," she said, turning to the director. "This… thing… is probably one of a kind. And you're just going to dissect it."

"It's not your problem."

"I am the leading ghost researcher in this building, if not the leading expert on the _planet_." Maddie took a step forwards, trying to project confidence. "You're wasting a golden opportunity. Lots of money, lots of technology, lots of understanding," she paused and, knowing the director had strong military ties, added, "lots of new weaponry, and lots of information on the ghost invasion."

There was a small twitch of the man's eyebrow.

Maddie fought down the glimmer of delight at the slight show of interest. "Destroying it is destroying all the information it carries. A good scientist could get that information out of it while keeping it intact long enough to be useful for other things."

"I'm not leaving it 'alive'," the director said, twisting the last word. "I don't have the man-power or desire to keep track of it an hour longer than I have to. In the end, it is just a ghost."

"No, it's not." Maddie smiled at him. "Or you wouldn't be so desperate for me to sign this form you made up. You wouldn't be working so hard to keep the information about it from me. You wouldn't care I had to say." She held out the form, unsigned. "That creature is unique – and you know it – and there are only two people on the planet who can properly remove the useful information from it."

The director's eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm right, Director Carson, and you know it."

The man stared at her in silence for a long, long minute. "What would you suggest?"

Jack stepped forwards, putting a hand on her shoulder. "We have a containment unit set up for a level seven entity."

Maddie pursed her lips together. She certainly hadn't been planning on bringing the thing home with her. Study it here, yes. Understand it more, certainly. Get the time to decide if it were really a ghost or not, definitely. But in her home?

"You?" the director sounded annoyed at the idea.

"It would be easier to study in our lab," Maddie said, gritting her teeth a moment but deciding to roll with Jack's comment. "Of course we'd sign nondisclosure agreements, and have to agree on a fee – which would include a generous portion to you, of course, for allowing us this opportunity-"

"And you would take personal, full responsibility for that thing and all of its actions," the director finished, his voice a dark growl.

"And you would take all of the credit." Maddie smiled thinly. At least her daughter was off at college for the autumn. That was a definite bonus. "What do you think?"

There was another period of silence. Then Director Carson frowned. "Fine," he said. "All your research gets funneled through me. All of it. You are, from this instant onwards, my employees."

Maddie tensed. She hated working for others. That hadn't been part of the deal. The form in her hand crinkled as she curled her fingers into fists.

"Or you can sign the form and leave," the director finished.

Her conscience wouldn't let her sign the form. Eyes flickered to the door that held the mysterious teenage boy. Would she really do all of this for an inhuman being she had just met? "Fine," she grated. Hopefully what she learned from the boy would outweigh the consequences of her arrangement.

And that was how Maddie and Jack Fenton ended up with an eighteen-year-old quasi-ghost sitting shackled in the back seat of their car.


	33. You Will Remember my Name - Jack, Danny

You Will Remember my Name

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

I saw the fight - bright flashes of reds and greens that lit the night sky, staining the clouds with cotton candy colors – seconds before the sensors went off. "Ghost," I cheered, pointing eagerly towards the lights despite being alone in the car. Turning off the car and snagging a few pieces of technology from the back seat, I stumbled onto the street and ran towards the fight.

As I came around a corner and the ghosts came into view, the sight of the Wisconsin ghost made my fingers curl tightly around the weapon in my hand. Mads and I had been killing for another shot at that specter. The number of crimes we could tie to this ghost was becoming ludicrous. The other ghost – to no surprise – was the resident ghost boy. Inviso-Bill, or Phantom, or whatever moniker the news was currently giving him.

Bracing my legs, I raised my weapon and pointed it towards the fighting ghosts. But before I could do anything more than focus on them, the Wisconsin ghost managed to land a harsh blow. The ghost boy dropped like a rock, tumbling bonelessly through the air to land at my feet in a broken pile. Bright ectoplasm oozed from dozens of wounds, the worst being a huge gash on his head.

I took a step forwards and toed the boy's shoulder with my foot. He didn't move.

"And what is this?" came a sneering voice.

I tore my gaze off the unconscious child at my feet. The Wisconsin ghost had landed a dozen feet away, arms crossed over his chest. "Back off, ghost," I said, trying to make my voice dark and dangerous, and pointed my weapon between his eyes.

"As if you're any danger to me." The ghost floated forwards, dismissing me with casual indifference. "Go away, fool." His red eyes were focused on the teenage ghost. I was clearly a lower priority.

I took one hand off my weapon and reached around behind me, grabbing hold of the device dangling behind my back, and pushed the button. The Thermos activated in a flare of blue light, pulling the younger ghost into its clutches. I felt a tiny bit of guilt at catching the ghost I was fairly sure was trying to help rather than the ghost I knew was evil – but I only had one Thermos. I could only catch one. And, even if I ended up just letting the kid go again in a few minutes, I'd sleep better knowing I'd taken away the Wisconsin ghost's prize.

His dead, red eyes glared at me. The ghost snarled, animal-like, but stopped his forward movement at the sight of my weapon.

"Even I can hit you from here," I said, keeping my ectogun pointed at his head. "Want to find out if you can pull a shield before I can shoot you?"

A snort. "Do you think you scare me?" His eyes flared with light, making his features look even less human than usual.

"Me? No." I thumbed a button on the side of the weapon, making it whine and glow with charge. "But my Fenton Dissolve-o-fier?"

It had become obvious that someone – or something – was rifling through our blueprints and stealing our ideas. I'd long assumed the Wisconsin ghost was behind it. Mads had come up with the brilliant plan to draw up a few fake blueprints for some truly awful weapons. Nobody but she and I should know of their existence. While I couldn't remember was the Dissolve-o-fier was purported to be able to do, the widening of the ghost's eyes and the nervous way he eyed my weapon made me smirk. The weapon in my hands was, in reality, just a normal ectogun.

I let my tone turn lazy as I stole one of Danny's bad lines. "Do you feel lucky, punk?"

The ghost simply scowled and vanished, his red eyes lingering in the air for seconds longer than his body.

I stood still, listening and waiting until I was fairly certain the ghost had actually left. With a frown, I let the gun fall to my side and poked the Thermos. There had been my perfect chance to catch the Wisconsin ghost. Instead, I ended up with the ghost boy. Making my way back to the car, I scanned the area with the radar – the ghost really had gone – and drove home.

With Maddie and Jazz gone at a conference and Danny (probably) at a friend's house, the house was dark and quiet. I paced back and forth in the kitchen, staring at the Thermos in my hands, trying to decide what to do. I honestly didn't believe the ghost boy was any sort of danger to Amity Park. It was obvious he did more good than harm. I certainly wasn't going to experiment on him… but I couldn't just let the ghost go. Mads would lock me in the Fenton Stockades if she ever found out. I had to study him, at least for a short while.

I tromped into the basement, set up a small containment area with a shield I hoped was strong enough to hold the young ghost for a short period of time, and dumped the child inside. He dissolved into existence much more slowly than I expected, sprawled on the ground.

"Hey," I said, hoping to prod some sort of response. "Ghost."

I got nothing but a slight groan. I shrugged and pulled over a chair, ignoring the sharp squeaking of the wheels and the tortured groan of the metal as I dropped into it. Clipboard in hand, I started making notes. This was the first high-level ghost Mads and I had gotten the opportunity to study closely.

The ghost's clothing was charred and splattered with ectoplasm. Green liquid trickled down the boy's face, oozing from the slice on his forehead and staining his face and hair a caustic, glowing emerald. His actual skin tone and facial structure was nearly impossible to make out underneath the mess. Despite Mads' repeated opinions that ghosts couldn't possibly feel pain, it was hard to study him in this condition; my mind easily imagined how much pain he would be in were he human.

I slowly set down the clipboard, staring at the teenager. "Ghost?"

Again, no real response. The ghost was completely out of it.

The chair squealed when I got up, making my way around the room as I grabbed a bottle of water and an old, but clean, rag. Walking into a containment unit with a ghost inside? It was a bad plan. But I didn't hesitate as I stepped through the shield, feeling it crackle and tingle on my skin, and knelt down next to the ghost. I touched his shoulder. "Ghost?"

One of the eyes cracked open just a touch, then closed again. It never focused on me.

Emboldened, I opened the water bottle and wetted the rag, starting to carefully clean off the boy's face. The ectoplasm sizzled when it came in contact with the water and rag, and the cloth left greenish streaks behind, but my efforts definitely helped. After a few moments, I had the ghost half-propped up against my side, gently using my rag to scrub at the worst of the mess.

It was amazing. Unlike I'd always assumed, the ghost's skin didn't glow. It was actually ectoplasm flowing underneath a thin outer layer that created his unearthly aura. Where my body cast a shadow on his face, I could trace tiny vessels under his skin. "Wow," I whispered.

At some point, I realized that the boy had opened his eyes. They weren't really focused on me – just open and staring. "Ghost?" I asked, snagging his chin and turning his head so that he was looking in my direction. His eyes stared off into the distance through my head. One pupil was dilated, the other contracted, the skin around his left eye turning dark with a thick bruise.

I let his head settle back against my chest, using my now-dirty rag to get the worst of the gunk out of his hair. The boy would need a shower to really get clean. I barely held back a wince of sympathetic pain as I lightly prodded at the area around the huge gash that ran from above his left eye to deep in his hair. The cut didn't look too deep, and the ectoplasm was already congealing and hardening into something like a blood clot, but the skin everywhere near the cut was bruising. The child had taken a very hard hit.

Head as clean as it was going to get, I frowned down at the boy's clothing. It was so saturated with ectoplasm it was staining the floor. After a second of dithering, I set down the rag and mostly-empty bottle of water and started to pull at the jumpsuit. The zipper was easy to find, and I carefully eased the arms down the ghost's arms. The skin protected by the clothes was clean and – although starting to show bruises – free of burns and cuts. Thankfully the child was wearing some sort of undershirt and boxers, leaving him partially clothed as I stripped off the last of the ruined jumpsuit. I tossed the soiled clothing out of the way, half thinking I could wash it, and watched in startled amazement as the jumpsuit dissolved into gas when it passed through the shield. I winced and muttered, "Sorry," not remembering the ghost wasn't conscious enough to hear me.

I settled him on a cleanish portion of the ground, leaving long enough to snag an old pillow and blanket from a shelf. The ghost moved slightly as I settled the blanket around his shoulders and the pillow under his head. He curled around the thin pillow and hugged it to him. The blanket phased through him after just a few minutes, drifting to the ground.

Not knowing what else to do, I sank back into my chair, rested my chin in my hands, and quietly watched the ghost sleep.

* * *

I jerked out of my doze, my head snapping upright at some sort of sound. It took a few blinks before my eyes focused on the ghost shield – and the ghost sitting inside of it. The boy had the blanket pulled around his shoulders. "Ghost," I muttered, sitting more upright.

He tipped his head slightly to the side, studying me carefully. One of his eyes wouldn't open very far, and it seemed as though his pupils were still different sizes. When he spoke, his voice carried a hair-raising ethereal overtone, but it also slurred oddly. "Who are you?"

I was surprised by the question. Since I'd been hunting the ghost for the better part of a year now, and had pretty good evidence that the child regularly lurked around my home, I'd assumed the ghost knew my name. "Jack Fenton," I said. "Welcome to Fentonworks."

Those green eyes flicked around the darkened lab. One of his hands came up to trace along the edge of the ghost shield, sending sparks of green cascading onto the floor like a welding torch. "Welcome, yeah," he said slowly, like he had to focus on the words to say them properly. "What'cha what with me?"

"I was going to study you. Ask you some questions."

The ghost stared at his fingertips, seeming to have forgotten we were having a conversation for a long few seconds before blinking up at me. "Like?"

I'd decided the ghost was more good than bad months ago, and that theory had been proven true. I'd also figured the ghost wouldn't be against answering a few questions if I ever got around to asking – it seemed as though that was also true. Fighting back a grin, I leaned forwards, listening to the chair squeal. My nose was less than six inches from the ghost shield and I could smell the electricity pulsing through the air. "Let's start easy. What do you want me to call you?"

He snorted softly. "Other than ghost?"

"Yeah."

He was very, very quiet. He picked at his fingers, prodded carefully at the cut on his head, and then scowled darkly. Trying to get to his feet, the ghost simply tipped sideways and nearly careened into the shield. He ended up on his hands and knees, his stomach heaving as gooey ectoplasm spilled from his mouth and splattered on the floor.

"Careful," I said, getting up and reaching for him without thinking. I stopped myself just before I touched him, pulling my arm back through the ghost shield. 'More good than bad' didn't necessarily equate to 'safe'.

His body was shaking, although I doubted it was from the cold. The child had been throwing around snowstorms just a few months ago. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he pulled the blanket more firmly around his shoulders and sat on the other side of the confinement area, staring at me.

"Are you okay?"

"What happened to me?" he asked, staring in my direction.

I knelt down, picked up the mostly-empty bottle of water from the ground, and tossed it gently towards him. It rolled to a stop by his knee. I didn't know if ghosts could drink water, but I figured it was the thought that counted. "You don't remember?"

After a moment, he shook his head.

"You did get hit pretty hard."

He arched the eyebrow over his non-bruised eye in response.

"It was the Wisconsin ghost. You two were fighting over something, and he got in a lucky blow." I watched his face for any sort of comprehension to what I was saying. Nothing seemed to be sparking the memory in his mind. "I suppose forgetting a little when you get hit so hard is normal-"

"Who's the Wisconsin ghost?" he interrupted.

This made me pause. I gazed at him, at a loss for how to answer that. The Wisconsin ghost had been an on-and-off feature in our town for the past eight months, and every single time the vampire-like ghost showed up, the ghost boy was seconds behind. It was incomprehensible that the child didn't know the Wisconsin ghost. "Um… I don't know his real name," I said, searching for something to say. "I met him in Wisconsin almost a year ago. Thus the name."

"Oh."

It was strange, how the ghost didn't know one of his biggest rivals. Didn't seem to know me despite all our run-ins. …How he hadn't answered when I'd asked him his name earlier. "You didn't tell me," I said slowly as the pieces came together in my head, "what you wanted to be called."

He fixed me with a half-hearted glare, although it was ruined by his teenage facial structure and lopsided eyes. "Call me what you want," he muttered, wrapping his arms around his knees. He looked lost.

"You don't remember, do you," I said.

I caught the slight wince, but he didn't answer. The silence was telling.

"I didn't know ghosts could get amnesia," I murmured, more to myself than to him. When I got no response, I sighed. "Well, why don't you pick? I don't really want to call you ghost. Rumor says it's either Inviso-Bill or Phantom."

"Inviso-Bill?" he said, sounding incredulous. "Someone seriously thinks that's a name?"

I grinned and dropped back into my chair. It squeaked loudly in protest. "Lots of someones. We should go with 'Phantom' then?"

He half-shrugged, but I'd pulled his attention back to the conversation and he was looking in my direction again. "Better than some lame pun."

"True," I said, not mentioning the fact that Phantom was something of a pun in and of itself. "So what's it like?"

He wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling his legs against his chest. "What's what like?" he asked dully.

"Being a ghost."

"How would I be able to answer that?" he muttered. "Even if I ever remembered what my life was like, I certainly don't right now." He rested his forehead on his knees, closing his eyes.

I frowned. "Point," I muttered, then pressed ahead with my questions. "So, are you able to feel pain?"

"Can we not do this right now?" His voice was barely audible.

I sat back, watching Phantom curiously. "Why not?"

"Please?" He didn't raise his head from where it was buried.

Nodding despite the fact that he couldn't see me, I tried to see this from his point of view. Trapped in a cage, no memories, hurt… I wouldn't really want to answer any questions either. "Later, then?"

He nodded – or at least his body moved in such a way that it seemed like he had nodded.

That left me in something of a predicament. I had Phantom trapped, but the ghost shield wouldn't keep the powerful spirit here for very long. And if the child tried to force his way out, he'd destroy a good portion of the lab doing so. I knew I had no hope of keeping him here against his will. With a sigh and unhappily imagining the rant Mads would go on when she found out about this, I got up, snagged one of the more powerful weapons, walked over to switch, and turned off the ghost shield. Keeping the weapon pointed vaguely in Phantom's direction just in case, I waited for him to vanish.

He didn't leave.

"Phantom?" I asked. I took an uneasy step forwards, incredibly aware of how powerful the ghost was and how out-powered I was.

Green eyes came up to gaze blankly in my direction. "What?" he whispered.

"Don't you… want to leave?" I gestured with the weapon towards the stairs.

He stared at the stairs, then back at me. The emptiness in his uneven, bruised eyes made me shiver. "Where would I go?"

"Home?" My voice rose in pitch, knowing exactly what the ghost was going to say next. "Your lair?"

"Where's that?"

"I… don't know…" I sank to my knees, almost on level with his eyes. Gazing at him, I had to struggle to see him as anything other than a lost, confused child. The weapon in my hands felt cold and heavy. Maddie's voice screamed in my head as the next words formed. "Do you… want to stay here for awhile?"

He shivered. "Can I?" he whispered.

It was a horrible, terrible, perhaps deadly decision to allow a ghost like Phantom to stay in our house without any sort of containment or protection. But Mads and Jazz were gone, and I could easily con Danny into staying at a friend's house for the night. And I really didn't think I'd be able to kick the kid out, not looking like he did. And Phantom wasn't a bad ghost… I was mostly sure. "Yeah. For awhile."

"Thanks." His head went back down onto his knees, hiding his face again.

I sat there for a long few minutes in silence, watching him shudder now and then. "Phantom?" I asked. I scooted forwards, close enough to feel the slight zap of his aura and the cold leaking off his skin. "Do ghosts feel pain?"

He nodded, pulling his arms tighter and his legs closer to his chest.

Very carefully, I reached out a hand and touched his shoulder. Touching his body with my bare skin made my hand tingle with energy. When he glanced up at me, looking so much like a human child in pain, I forced a smile onto my face. "Maybe I can help with that."


	34. Ghost Program - Vlad, Maddie Hologram

Ghost Program

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

The Maddie hologram couldn't do anything about what was happening. She couldn't touch anything and had only a limited ability to control the house. Beyond aggressively turning on and off the lights, slamming the electronic doors shut, or switching on the ghost shield, she could only watch angrily as the love of her life was beaten to a pulp.

Not that she didn't think he deserved it; Vlad Masters left a lot to be desired. The man had spent twenty years obsessing over a child and forty years over a woman he couldn't ever have, and the better part of the last five completely ignoring her. Despite her repeated requests for him to find something else to do, he'd recently restarted his cloning experiments – which had lead to this current situation.

Despite his failings, she could see the beauty of his soul. He loved too deeply. He cared too much. Sure, the things he loved and cared about fit into a pretty narrow band of interests, but those things that fell under his purview?

Those he held close to his heart like nobody else in the world.

She loved him for those moments when he was protecting the things he cherished. And – because she was programmed to – she loved him when he wasn't. The Maddie program could tell the difference between the two types of love, however. Only one was real.

Eventually, the young man doing the beating grew tired of kicking around an unconscious form. As the half-ghost stalked away from the man, the Maddie program ran a silent check on him. Vlad's heart still beat. His wounds would heal, given time.

Then she realized Phantom had come to a stop next to her computer core. Leaving part of her program to monitor her love, she faded into view next to the young man, crossing her arms under her chest. "What are you doing?"

Phantom glanced at her. "Wiping Vlad's computer."

"You'll kill me." Fear wasn't exactly an emotion that could be given to a computer program, but Maddie felt vulnerable and anxious at the thought. If Phantom chose to destroy her program, there would be nothing she could do about it.

"You're already dead," he said under his breath, crouching down to stare at the little blinking lights.

The human Maddie had died a few years back – she figured that's what he meant by the comment. "I'm not your mother."

Phantom glanced at her, one eyebrow arched in what was almost surprise. "I'm surprised Vlad programmed you to know that."

"Give me some credit," she said, crouching down next to him so she could peer into his eyes. They were green and swirling and so very, very human. "Please don't kill me."

"You're a computer program. I can't kill you," Phantom said as he pulled the computer station out of the cabinet.

Wires ran from the computer to the wall. The Maddie program felt a disquieting sensation looking at the device that held her code. "I won't exist anymore. Isn't that death?"

The young man studied her for a long moment. "Vlad's got the information on how to clone me on these drives. I can't let him keep that. I'm wiping it."

"You're wiping me."

The Maddie program had spent years pretending to be nothing more than a hologram. To keep her love safe, she'd deliberately kept her intelligence from this young man. She'd never regretted it – until now.

He was going to kill her, and he didn't even know he was doing it. To him, she was just some numbers and letters floating in cyberspace, not someone who could think and reason and feel.

"You're just a computer program," Phantom said, pulling out a small portable drive and plugging it in to the computer core. Maddie felt a small fizzle run through her as a virus downloaded into her program. "Vlad's probably got your program backed up somewhere."

"The program, yes," she agreed. "But not me."

She had just enough time to see Phantom look up at her in confusion before the virus took effect. She could feel her connection to the world get eaten away. First the house with its electronic lights and windows and doors. Then the ghost shield. Then the sensors that told her where people were and what they were doing.

Within seconds, she was alone – no longer a hologram, no longer a part of the world. Just a small fragment of code trapped on a hard drive, waiting to be devoured by Phantom's computer virus. She felt it bite into her.

And what was left of the world went dark.

It was several hours later that she found herself able to sense the world again. The virus must have left enough of her intact for the antivirus software to rebuild her program. Or, perhaps, Vlad had backed up her program more perfectly than she'd thought.

She peered around in delight – pleased to still exist. Her hologram had appeared in Vlad's office, right where she'd been standing last. A trail of blood and ectoplasm led from the spot where Vlad had collapsed out the door. The Maddie hologram reached for the house, for the sensors that would tell her where Vlad was… and found none.

Forehead wrinkling in confusion, she reached for the lights to turn them on. Still nothing. Then the robotic cleaners to start in on the blood stain. Nothing.

Confused and concerned, the Maddie program tried to transfer herself to a different room, but found herself going nowhere. That's when she turned and glanced at her computer core. The device was dark and small tendrils of smoke were rising from the aluminum casing. "What?" she whispered, kneeling down and reaching for it.

Her fingers touched metal. It was cold and hard, nothing like what she'd thought 'touch' would be like. Drawing her hand back, she stared at her fingers. They were glowing faintly. She clenched them and moved them around.

Getting to her feet, she slowly stood up and stepped back away from the dead computer. "I… I don't understand," she said. "Vlad?"

Confused and lost, the Maddie program walked towards the door. It took a befuddled few minutes of pressing her body against the door before she finally fell through. Stubbing her knees on the ground hurt in a way she'd never experienced before.

She followed the trail of blood and ectoplasm to Vlad's master bedroom. The door was slightly open. She peered inside to find her love lying on his bed, wrapped mostly in bandages. His chest was moving in slow, little motions. "Oh, love," she whispered.

Pushing the door open – a strange sensation after a life of being a hologram – she made her way to his side. Unsteadily, she reached out a hand and carefully laid it on his shoulder. Fireworks exploded in her program as she realized she was touching him.

She'd spent many, many hours trying to determine if her hopeless love towards Vlad Masters was programmed or real. Settling onto the side of his bed, hand on his shoulder, she realized she no longer cared. "Vlad."

His eyes opened. He looked up at her, his eyes clearly unfocused and lost. "Maddie?"

Moving her hand from his shoulder to his face, the Maddie program carefully cupped his cheek. "I'm here."

"You came back for me," he breathed. His eyes were wide and startled. A hand covered in dried blood reached for her.

She let him touch her face, feeling a strange cacophony of emotions as his gentle fingers traced down her cheek and touched her lips. "Let's get you cleaned up," she said.

"I knew you'd come back for me," Vlad mumbled, allowing her to pull on him and lurch him to a sitting position. "I knew you couldn't stay away."

The Maddie program fully realized that Vlad had her confused with the human Maddie. She thought to tell him, to let him know that she was the copy, nothing more than the Maddie hologram, but the words died in her throat. "Come on," she said instead, pulling on his arms.

It took some effort to get the bruised and beaten man to the bathroom. She settled him onto the edge of the bathtub and grabbed a rag. It took a moment of dithering to figure out how to use the faucet – she never had before. Eventually she had a wet rag, wringing it carefully out between her fingers.

That's when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Green, glowing eyes. Pale, glowing skin. She… she was a ghost.

"I… died?" The washrag dropped from her hands as she understood. Phantom had wiped her code. He'd killed her. And, at some point over the last few years, her program had become 'alive' enough to qualify for turning into a ghost.

"Several years ago," Vlad said. He was holding his ribs and sitting up straight. "It's okay, my dear. Being a ghost isn't that bad."

"I'm a… ghost?" She turned around to look at him.

Vlad's breath caught in his throat as he held out an arm. "Come here, love."

She floated across the room and gingerly sat on the edge of the bathtub. His arm snagged around her shoulders, pulling her close.

"I'll teach you everything you need to know," he said. "It'll be okay."

This was her chance to tell him that she wasn't the real Maddie. But as she opened her mouth to speak, she realized this was her opportunity. The real Maddie was out of the way, and she finally had her chance to do – and be – what she'd always wanted to be.

It was the first, and only, selfish decision the program had ever made. "You'd do that for me?" she asked.

As Vlad rested his head on her shoulder, his eyes closing in exhaustion and pain, the Maddie program felt a smile tug at her lips. She'd spent years wondering what death would be like. If she had known it would be better than life – she would have died sooner.

She didn't want to ever leave his grasp, but he was bloody and obviously in pain. "Let me get that washrag," she said, prying herself out of grasp long enough to grab the wet cloth and start wiping at the dried blood on his skin. "I'll get you fixed up and back in bed."

"Don't leave me again." The words were full of pain and anguish. His face looked hollow as he watched her swipe at his skin.

The Maddie program looked up at her programmer. "I came back for you," she said gently. "Why would I leave?"

Tears welled up in his eyes. Then he surprised her by leaning forwards and capturing her lips in a kiss. Maddie froze, never having been kissed before. When he pulled back, he ran a hand through her hair and whispered, "I've always loved you."

Maddie felt a smile tug at her lips. Feeling a bit reckless, she pressed a quick kiss to his mouth in return.

It took several long minutes before she had him cleaned up and bandaged. The job was rougher than she'd have liked – but never having been able to hold things before made everything new and challenging. Her love didn't seem to care.

When she got him to totter back to bed, she fussed with the covers in a way she'd never been able to do, then stood there and watched him sleep. As a hologram, she'd often crawled into bed with him, pretending to sleep beside her programmer. Of course, she'd always disappeared as soon as Vlad had woken up; he'd have been horribly angry to have found the program in his bed.

Now though?

It took a few fits and starts, but she crawled in beside him. Lying on the covers – feeling them for the first time – she propped her head up on her hand and lay there, watching the slow rise and fall of Vlad's chest.

And maybe she'd finally be able to say those forbidden words. "I love you too."


	35. Sleepover - Danny, Tucker

Sleepover

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

Tucker ended up carrying most of his friend's things. Danny trudged along behind, slow and still trying to find an excuse to go back home and hole up in his room again. If Tucker would have left it up to Danny to carry the supplies, likely they would not have made it past the end of his driveway. "Come on," he said, trying not to sound exasperated as Danny slowed down to a snail's pace for the forth time.

Danny scowled and stuffed his hands into his pockets. Then he tripped, ending up sprawled on the sidewalk.

"Hey, man, you okay?" Tucker set down the worst of his load and hurried back to Danny's side.

The other boy was slowly getting back to his hands and knees, shaking his head. "Why couldn't we have done this sleepover at my house?" he griped.

"Because you absolutely, positively refused to," Tucker said with a grin.

"I didn't want to go to your house either," Danny muttered. He pushed himself back to his feet, standing still for a longer moment than usual, like he had to work to keep his balance.

Tucker chewed on his lip, then said, "You okay?"

"Fine," Danny said. "Let's go." He stalked forwards, grabbing the sleeping bag and pillow and heading up the street.

Jogging a bit to catch up, Tucker scooped up the remaining items and fell into step next to his friend. "Are you sure? Ever since that accident a few days ago-"

"I'm fine." Danny's voice was full of vitriol. "You heard my parents: the shock I got from the Portal wore off after a few hours."

"Then why are you acting so weird?" Tucker jabbed the boy with his elbow.

Danny shot him an annoyed look. "I'm not acting weird."

"Yes, you are." Tucker turned down the street to lead to his house, Danny following. "You're acting like there's something wrong."

"I'm fine," Danny muttered again.

Tucker let it go until they got into his house, raided the fridge for snacks, and said hello to his mother. Once safely ensconced in his room, cracking open one of the better video games he had in his collection, Tucker decided to say something. Four days of bizarre behavior on the part of his best friend was enough. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

Danny sighed and settled into the desk chair backwards, resting his arms on the backrest. "Is that why you kidnapped me?"

With a snort, Tucker put the video game into the player and pulled out two controllers. "I didn't kidnap you. I had your parents' permission."

Actually, Danny's parents had been beside themselves with delight when Tucker had mentioned the sleepover that morning. They'd practically thrown Danny out the door, and Tucker could had sworn he heard Danny's father mutter something about the Fenton Stockades if Danny came back early. He wasn't the only one who had noticed Danny's odd behavior and was worried about it.

Danny took one of the controllers and fiddled with it as the game loaded. "It's not a big deal."

Tucker hummed an answer, then chose a frantic, two-person shooter option from the game menu. He'd been Danny's friend for nearly as long as he could remember, and he knew the boy probably better than anyone. Tucker was counting on the fact that Danny sucked at keeping secrets, he tended to wear his heart on his sleeve, and he wasn't very good at bottling his emotions. Given enough time, the boy would crack – especially now that 'I'm fine' had turned into 'It's not a big deal'.

After Tucker absolutely creamed Danny in eight straight games, Danny groaned and tossed his remote control onto the bed, then got out of the chair and followed the remote, collapsing onto the bed face-first. Tucker didn't start a new game. Instead, he sat there, remote in hand, waiting quietly while the TV replayed the death of Danny's avatar in slow-motion again and again.

"It's not a big deal," Danny said again.

"Sure," Tucker said. "Then just tell me and I'll stop bothering you abut it."

Danny looked up at him, blue eyes dark. "I-"

Then he vanished. One second there, the next instant gone – blinked out of existence like a light.

Tucker surged to his feet. "Danny!" he yelped, adrenaline making his heart race.

There was the sound of coughing from under the bed. The brown and blue checkered quilt moved as Danny wriggled out from under the bed, hair covered in dust. Tucker stood still, staring at his friend in absolute confusion.

"So," Danny said, getting to his feet and brushing at his now-dusty clothes. Red danced in his cheeks as he settled back down on the bed. He buried his face in his hands, his voice muffled when he spoke. "I don't think the shock wore off like parents said it would."

Tucker just stood there as Danny spilled the story of why he'd been so distant the last few days. All his brain really heard was, 'You don't think this is a big deal?!"

When Danny finally trailed off, still not looking at him and fiddling with his fingers, Tucker shook his head. "Gonna tell your parents?"

Danny shrugged a shoulder. "It'll wear off soon."

"They said a couple of hours," Tucker said. "And that was four days ago."

Another shrug. "So they're off a little bit. It's not a big deal: I'm sure it'll wear off soon."

Although Tucker wasn't entirely sure about that assertion, he did know what to say next. "So… what can you do other than fall through beds?"

The tiny smirk that crept into the corner of Danny's mouth spoke volumes. Minutes later, they were yelling goodbye to Tucker's parents and racing towards the park. Apparently Danny could turn invisible and hover in the air for a few seconds, and Tucker had demanded to get to see it.

Behind them, forgotten in Tucker's room, Danny's video game avatar slowly replayed its death over and over again.


	36. Science Experiment - Maddie, Danny

Science Experiment

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

"Mom?" Danny poked his head through the door leading to the basement lab.

"Down here!" came the echoing shout.

Danny closed his eyes and focused, intending on practicing his new-found ability to teleport.

"Walk down the stairs, young man. I have an experiment going."

With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Danny slunk down the stairs to the basement laboratory and wove his way through the metal tables and piles of clutter. His mother was sitting next to small beaker with a sample of ectoplasm in the bottom. Above the beaker hovered some long, tall, test tube-like thing that also had ectoplasm in it. As Danny watched, his mother twisted the knob at the bottom of the test tube thing and a drop of ectoplasm fell into the beaker. She clicked a button on the computer, then glanced at him.

"What do you need, Sweetie?"

"What are you doing?" Pulling over a chair, Danny watched as his mother let out another drip of ectoplasm and clicked the button on the computer. After some of the crazier experiments his parents had told him about the last few months, Danny was interested in what she was doing.

His mother handed him a pair of goggles. "You know how ectoplasm, when in a large enough quantity, will spontaneously become sentient?"

Danny blinked and said, "Yeah," even as he was trying to remember was sentient meant. Didn't it have something to do with a brain?

"Jack and I are trying to determine the exact amount of ectoplasm needed for that to happen." She leaned forwards, let out another drop of ectoplasm, clicked the button on her computer, and sat back in her chair again.

Still not sure what sentient meant, Danny stared at the lab equipment for a long moment. "So you're putting the ectoplasm from the big test tube-"

"Titration burette," she corrected.

"-into the beaker one drop at a time until it… becomes sentient?"

His mother glanced at him with a grin, then chuckled. "You look just like your father did when he was younger with those goggles on." She patted him on the knee, then said, "What did you need?"

"How long is that going to take?" Danny asked, gesturing towards the beaker and big test tube setup.

"It took 2,048 drops last time." Again the drip oozed into the beaker.

Danny thought about how slowly she was putting in the drops. "And that took…"

"At one drip every 30 seconds? Slightly over seventeen hours."

Danny stared at the tiny amount of ectoplasm in the beaker. His parents often invested a lot of time into their experiments, but this seemed excessive. "How many drops into it are you?"

She peered at the computer. "687. We're almost to the six hour mark."

"So you've got a long ways to go." He leaned forwards, resting his arms on the lab table and watching another drop ooze downwards.

"We'll be done sometime tomorrow morning."

"When are you going to sleep?"

"Jack and I are switching off shifts all night." Another drip. Behind her, the Portal swirled sedately.

Being part ghost, Danny knew the pull of the Ghost Zone and it's effect on ectoplasm. "Does the Portal have anything to do with it? Like, how close you are?"

His mother smiled. "That's another variable we'll need to test, yes. But you can only change one variable at a time. We need to figure out the average number at this position first."

"How many times do you have to run this experiment?"

"A statistically significant number of times." Drip.

"How many is that?" Danny wondered.

His mother crossed her arms and frowned. "Still up for debate. Jack is in the fifteen range, while I'm voting for closer to twenty."

Danny blinked at her. "You're going to run a seventeen hour experiment twenty times?"

Drip. She grinned at him. "And then we'll move it closer to the Portal and try it again. Then further away. And we need to test it with purified ectoplasm, and with refined ectoplasm-"

The thought of how much time this experiment would take made Danny's jaw drop. "How much are you getting paid to do this?"

His mother shrugged a shoulder. "This is one of our pet projects."

As far as Danny was aware, 'pet project' equaled 'not getting paid.' He stared at her, befuddled by why anyone would want to do this. "Why?"

"So we know how much ectoplasm can go into our large-capacity cartridges before it becomes sentient and eats something," she answered blandly.

There was that word again – sentient – but Danny didn't pause to contemplate it. "That sounds beyond boring."

Drip. "It does give me a lot of time to work on our theoretical equations," she said, pointing to a notepad covered in numbers and letters and strange math symbols. "Jack is determined to find the equivalent of the Theory of Relativity for the ghost world." She shook her head with a small smile on her face, like what she had said was some sort of joke Danny didn't catch. "What did you need?"

Still caught up in staring at his mother's seemingly endless experiment, Danny shook his head. He hadn't really needed anything; he'd just been bored and looking for something to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon. "I don't remember," he muttered, watching as his mother put another drop into the beaker. "You're seriously going to sit down here for days just doing this?"

"Yes, Sweetie." She cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile on her lips. "Did you want to help?"

"Not a chance." He wasn't that bored. He reached out with a finger and tapped the beaker with the ectoplasm in it. He'd been hoping for some ripples or oozing goo, but what he got was a stirring in the glop. Little flickers of light – just for a second – and something that looked like an amoeba arm stretching upwards towards his finger.

The slow breath leaking out of his mother's nose made Danny wince. "Sweetheart," she said, a tone to her voice that made her sound like she was trying to hold back frustration. "One variable at a time. We're not testing how ectoplasm reacts to you."

"Sorry," he murmured as his mother took the beaker and dumped it out, guiltily realizing that he had just reset an experiment she had just spent six hours working on. "I didn't…"

"I know," she said. Her fingers rested in his hair for a moment. "It's okay. It was time for a break anyways. Let's go upstairs – I'll let you win another game of checkers."

Danny scowled at her. "You don't have to let me win. I won fair and square last time."

She smiled. "If you say so."

She headed for the stairs, but Danny stayed in his seat. "So… if your experiment is done…" he called after her.

"Fine," she said, waving a hand behind her.

Danny grinned and closed his eyes, focusing on the empty, cold feeling deep inside of him. With a quick snap of his mind, Danny found himself suddenly falling. His eyes opened, his hands and legs flailed out to catch him just before he hit the ground. "Misjudged it again," he muttered, looking around the living room. Based on the fall, he must have appeared near the ceiling.

Checkers game in hand, his mother appeared in the living room. "Practice makes perfect," she said. "At least you got the right room this time." She sat down on the couch. "Ready?"

Leaping over the back of the couch, Danny settled down and started arranging the black pieces. "You're on."

His mother hummed as an almost evil smirk crossed her face. "You first."

The look on his mother's face made Danny hesitate. Perhaps she had let him win last time. But he wasn't going to let her see him squirm. Confidently, he reached out and moved one of his pieces, sat forwards, and said, "I'm getting better at this. You'd better watch yourself."

"In your dreams, ghost boy," his mother murmured and moved her pieces.


	37. Ghost King - Maddie, Danny

Ghost King

A Danny Phantom Fanfiction by Cordria

* * *

Maddie settles slowly into the old kitchen chair, running her fingers over the worn tabletop. Her bones ache – a storm is on the horizon. Gray hair flutters in her face and she gently tucks it behind her ear.

"Ready, Mom?"

She looks at her daughter. Jazz has come over to help pack the last few items before closing up the house for the last time. "Just give me a few minutes, Sweetheart."

The younger woman smiles at her, grabs the box that had been sitting on the table, and walks out the door. With the exception of the table and appliances, the kitchen is empty. The table is staying with the house – for many reasons.

Quietly fingering the thicker scratches and stains in the table, Maddie sighs. So much of her life has revolved around this table. She regrets having to leave it behind, but she's thought long and hard on it.

Her eyes trail over to the basement door. Someone – likely Jazz – has covered the bright orange door with a thick coat of white paint. The basement is empty and clean. But if you walk down there and stand still and listen, you can still hear the past. The click of technology. The whirr of ectoplasm. The bone-deep buzz of the portal.

The portal was dismantled almost three decades ago, but if you stand in the right spot and close your eyes, you can still smell the ozone. Beyond a horrible reminder of what had happened to her son just shy of his twenty-first birthday, a physical portal hadn't been necessary after the Truce was signed. The ghosts stayed in their world. Maddie and Jack (and several other scientists) had been gifted free access to the ghost world.

Besides, as she and Jack had found out, ghost portals didn't need all the fancy equipment. As Danny had explained it all those years ago, a portal needed nothing more than a belief in ghosts and a link to someone in the other world. Portals can be made from a hole in the ground, a device in your hand – or even a stain on the kitchen table.

Maddie glances at the door Jazz has vanished through, then presses her fingers to the stain on the table. It's barely there anymore – a splattered green-red stain thirty years old. She closes her eyes and imagines.

She imagines a tall young man. She imagines the child she used to hold in her arms. She imagines a teenager, sleeping on his bed. She remembers the boy she lost all those years ago.

When she opens her eyes, she's not alone anymore. Standing in the kitchen is a ghost, appearing to be in his early twenties. Dressed in black and white, with an aura that sparked up around his head like a crown, the king of the ghosts looks around the kitchen. "It's kinda empty in here," he says as a way of greeting.

"I'm moving," she says.

The ghost peers at her with curious green eyes. Confusion clouds his expression. "Oh," he says. "That's good."

Maddie smiles sadly and leans forwards on the table. The ghost has forgotten who she is. It had been getting worse and worse the past few years. Maddie knows she's been hanging onto her son too long – this is a sign that it is time to allow the ghost to move on. "I'm not going to call you anymore," she says, tipping her head to the side. "I just wanted to say goodbye."

Ghosts don't care about saying goodbye, especially to a human - they are too fleeting and short-lived. Instead, the ghost just arches a puzzled eyebrow and prowls around the kitchen, opening doors and looking out the window at the human world. The human world, being out of bounds for the ghosts since the Truce, is likely very tempting and interesting to a ghost with few memories left of his life.

With a sigh, Maddie tries to remind herself that this ghost hasn't been her son in nearly three decades, and Maddie can't kid herself anymore. While time moves on for humans, it doesn't for the dead. Very likely, this ghost can't even tell that Maddie has grown old. He doesn't even remember who she is.

"How is Vlad doing?" Vlad Masters had died a few years after Danny, and Jack had always delighted in knowing what his old friend had been up to. Even though Jack is now gone, Maddie can't help but keep up the tradition this one last time.

"Plasmius?" When Maddie nods, a smirk appears on the ghost's face. "Walker's tormenting him," the ghost tells her with delight. "Chasing him from end to end of the Zone for…" Maddie watches as the ghost trails off, a confused look clouding his face. "Something he did," the ghost finishes quietly.

The worst of Vlad's crimes happened while the two of them were alive – it isn't a surprise that the ghost can't remember them anymore. Life fades fast after death. Memories disappear like fireflies, flashing out of existence one by one. Maddie isn't sure the ghost remembers he was alive at one point.

"I'm sure he's done many things worth being chased for," she says.

The ghost is staring out the window again. A bird is fluttering around outside. He's smiling, hands pressed against the counter, watching the little animal carefully. He doesn't remember what a bird is – he probably won't even remember this conversation in an hour.

She sighs and shakes her head. Even though she used to call the ghost here and sit with him and talk for hours and hours, Jack had asked her to stop doing that. He said it wasn't doing her any good, sitting her and talking with the dead, and he was right. She needs to move on with her life.

"Why are you so sad?"

Looking up at the question, Maddie smiles. "Time moves on."

With a bright smile, the ghost slips across the room and settles down next to her. "I can fix that," he says. "I can stop time for you, if you want."

Even though he doesn't remember her, he still wants to do anything for her. She lets herself be tempted by the offer a moment, but when he raises his hand to actually stop time, Maddie takes hold of his fingers. "No."

"Why not?" he asks. He's looking at her with those earnest green eyes, his skin cold against hers.

"Because times passes in this world. That's how life goes, Danny."

The use of his name makes the ghost blink. The strange crown-like aura vanishes. He looks suddenly younger and more real. "Mom?" he whispers.

"I know you don't understand," she says, very quietly. "But try to remember that I love you."

He tips his head, slightly confused. "Are you okay?"

She smiles. "Yes, Sweetie. You be good, okay?" She pulls the ghost towards her, throwing her arms around his shoulders, surprised and delighted to get this last, special moment with her son.

He hugs her back, gentle and cold as death. "I'm always good," he says in her ear.

"I know." When she finally lets him go, he pulls away and the childish aura almost immediately starts to fade. The brief flicker of life in his eyes dies and the crown appears back over his head.

He really is a good ghost. Ruler of the ghost world, creator of the Truce between the human world and the afterlife, and general protector of anyone smaller and weaker than him. She watches him for a long moment more, knowing this will be the last time she gets to see him.

"Goodbye, ghost," she says, then presses her hand against the strange stain on the table. The ghost fades from view, back into the ghost world.

Long, silent minutes pass as she sits there, silent and thoughtful. Her fingers run over the stain, over and over again, and desperately wishes she can call him back.

But she can't. She won't.

Pushing the chair back from the table, she stands up. This table is her last connection to her son – the stain of his blood spilled on the table. Nobody else would be able to use it as a portal, and the table would stay here, where she wouldn't be able to use it either.

With one last brush of her fingers on the spot where her son had died thirty years ago, Maddie walks out of the kitchen. Her daughter is waiting in the living room, the last of the boxes packed into the car. "You ready to go?" she says in a quiet voice.

Maddie looks into her daughter's eyes. A small smile crosses her face. "Yes," she says, walking out of the hours for the last time. The door clicks shut behind her.

In the empty basement, lost somewhere between the phantom sounds of ectoweapons and the stench of the portal, someone whispers, "I love you too, Mom."


	38. (Un)natural Consequences - Danny

(Un)natural Consequences  
A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Cori

* * *

Within days of the accident, Danny knew something was wrong with him… more wrong than just the obvious ghost-thing. It took him weeks to understand what – and much longer to get to the why. Eventually he realized that super-gluing the instinctive knowledge of the dead into his living brain left some rather undesirable consequences.

The ghosts' complete oral and written language competed in Danny's head for dominance with English. Words danced around on the page as he tried to read, and his handwriting drifted awkwardly between English and ghost. Anything less than full concentration on his English assignments made them an exercise in frustration, but that sort of focus gave him severe migraines. And with the ghost world's unique physical and mathematical properties imprinted into Danny's mind, human-based math class quickly became a nearly impossible headache.

Danny's grades had always hovered in the As and Bs. After the accident, they drifted to Cs, then to Ds. His math grade tumbled to an F and refused to move. No matter how much his teachers sighed, his parents' harped, or how long he sat around and picked at his homework, Danny's grades stayed low.

Too many distracting ghost attacks. Not enough time. And, after several months of trying his hardest – seriously! – Danny started to realize that all this work was somewhat hopeless. He'd literally fried his brain; it didn't work right anymore. Only his continued 'borrowing' of Sam's assignments (or Tucker's when absolutely necessary) kept his grades in the passing column.

Ninth grade finished with a whimper and his parents fostered him into a 'summer educational program.' It didn't go much better than school had, and left Danny with a bad taste in his mouth. He started to hate anything that had to do with reading, writing, or math. At the end of the weeks-long program, Danny's parents went in for a meeting with the tutor. They talked for hours, leaving Danny sitting on a hard chair in the lobby, lazily tossing one of the children's toys from hand to hand.

Afterwards, Danny didn't realize anything had changed. The tutoring was over; Danny was pleased and made excellent use of what remained of his summer. His life drifted slowly from friends to sleep to ghosts and back to friends. He didn't notice his parents asking him to 'come read this' more often, or the math problems his father would con Danny into 'helping' solve, or that his mother suddenly seemed incapable of writing down instructions on her own.

He did notice the looks they gave him when he stumbled through reading something, or when his scribbled down instructions were only half in English, or when two plus two didn't make four. But school started before Danny had much more than a glimmer of unease about it. Tenth grade began on a bad note (he was in low math class with none other than Dash Baxter for his first period), and Danny had zero illusions that it would get any better. With the exception of a social studies class with Tucker and his phy ed rotation with Sam, he was without his best friends.

Several weeks into school, Danny's mother plopped a bowl of spaghetti down in front of him for supper and informed him that she'd gotten a letter letting them know Danny would be getting pulled out of a few classes for some 'tests'. Danny had been suspicious and curious, but his mother had smoothed it over with a shrug and a 'just do it, Sweetie. I signed the form.'

True to form, he got yanked from class a total of six times over the next few weeks. Each time, a smiling teacher named Mrs. Marez set him down in a quiet room and had him run through all sorts of random things. Most of the tests were easy – find the objects, put these in order, find the pattern, read this as quick as you can, do this problem, do that. Sometimes Mrs. Marez handed him something that wasn't even a test, just a questionnaire about his life and what he wanted to do when he grew up. At the end of each session, the teacher snuck him a piece of candy and sent him back to class without really explaining the what fors and how you dids.

It was after Thanksgiving when Danny's parents drove him to school for a surprise parent-teacher meeting. Danny, knowing his grades were in the toilet and he was late on several big projects, squirmed uncomfortably in his seat the entire way to school and tried to come up with several new excuses other than truthful 'the Portal fried my brain'. But when the secretary ushered them into the conference room, it wasn't his scowling teachers there to meet them. It was Mrs. Marez.

She gestured them into seats with that big smile of hers and passed around stacks of papers. Danny snagged a copy – curious – and paged through it. Words swam under his eyes and he didn't bother to read most of it. All the paperwork appeared to be about him. The scores from all those tests the teacher had give him. Danny sat up a bit, interested.

"As you know, Danny's been taking some tests with me," the teacher was saying to his parents. "We're just here to go over the results, and for me to give you some options for moving forwards. We won't be making any sort of decisions today to give all this some time to sink in."

Danny's mother was sitting up perfectly straight, peering down at the paperwork with her bottom lip wormed nervously between her teeth. His father was slouched backwards, trying (and failing) to affect nonchalance.

The teacher, taking the silence for acceptance, moved on with her spiel after a smile in Danny's direction. "We had some concerns about Danny's grades and his academic progress after the accident last year, and we started this testing after you brought them to our attention in September. He's obviously been struggling-"

Danny tensed. He'd known the school knew about the accident since he'd been pulled from class for several days, but he hadn't realized the testing was about that. Or that they'd been worried that his drop in grades was connected to the accident in some way.

"-and we're trying to understand why and what we can do to help him." The teacher leaned forwards, flipping Danny's copy of the test results to the second page and using it as a reference for his parents to follow along. "There's lots of good things in here, and the full test results are in here for you to peruse at your leisure. We're going to start by going over the summary on the second page. You can see that one of the first tests Danny did for me was an IQ test, just to see how smart he was."

Although tensed and worried about this whole thing, he sat forwards. He'd always wondered what his IQ was. Fortunately, the teacher's finger was pointing to the numbers and all Danny had to do was translate them in his brain.

"He got a 119, which is high. A normal IQ would be a 100. He almost qualifies for the gifted program with an IQ that high."

Danny barely fought back a grin. There it was: proof he wasn't stupid. Mrs. Marez caught his gaze and smiled with a subtle wink. He wondered what Jazz's IQ score would be if she got tested.

"So we use that number as a base for the rest of his scores. On the different categories, he should be scoring in the 110-130 range." Her finger trailed down the table of numbers. Danny shot a glance at his parents, noting that both of them were closely staring at the paperwork too. "You can see that in tasks like memory, storage, and retrieval, Danny scores in the 120s, which tells us that he's got an excellent memory."

"No more forgetting to do your chores," Danny's dad cut in. "We now have proof you don't really 'forget'."

Danny winced and glanced down at his fingers.

"You can also see that his oral skills are all very high. Danny learns really well by listening and speaking. What I want you to see, though, is his reading, writing, and math scores."

Extremely nervous, Danny looked at the numbers the teacher was indicating. His stomach dropped.

"They're… low." The teacher hesitated between the words. "After seeing these sorts of results, we did some other tests that tried to pinpoint what the problem was. From what we can tell," she paused and glanced at Danny with an arched eyebrow, "he has a language processing problem that falls somewhat in line with dyslexia. Dyslexia would be a medical diagnosis and I'm not in any way qualified to tell you he has that; all I'm just saying is that these test results are in line with someone who has that problem."

Danny threw the word dyslexia around in his brain for a moment. "What is that?" he finally asked. He'd heard it before, but didn't really understand what it meant.

The teacher smiled. "It's a processing problem. The wires in your brain get scrambled when you're trying to read and write. Some people say it's like the words move around on the page, or the letters change shapes on their own, and make it difficult to figure out what the words are. Sound kinda right?"

Feeling startled that she had so accurately pinpointed his problem, Danny hesitantly nodded. He caught the terse smile on his mother's face with that admission. The teacher grinned at Danny, tipping her head slightly as she explained it to him.

"I'm not a medical doctor, but it's pretty common for someone who got hurt like you did to have some problems like this. Sometimes it goes away, sometimes it doesn't. It's not so important that you have the problem; what's important is that we know what it is, and we can help make it better. There are special programs-"

Danny understood what that meant instantly. Special programs. He knew several students in those 'programs.' As Danny felt the ground under him open up to swallow him whole, his mother cut in. Her body was tense and her tone was terse. "I don't want Danny pulled out of his normal classes. He's not stupid."

The teacher nodded and smiled. "I don't want him pulled out either. Most of those pullout classes wouldn't be a good fit for him anyways. But there are many programs we offer that Danny would benefit from that don't involve him being removed from his current courses. Also, remember that we're not here to make decisions today, just to discuss options. I'm just mentioning options for the future."

His mother relaxed slightly, but Danny still found himself staring at the papers in front of him.

"Danny's not, in any way, mentally incapable," Mrs. Marez continued. "If nothing else, the tests show how smart he is. All this is telling us is that Danny's brain works a little differently from yours and mine." Her gaze travelled slowly over the group. "It's not bad, or wrong – it just is. And that's okay. What we just need to figure out how to work with this, rather than just try to stamp him out with the same cookie-cutter mold we use for most of the other students. As you've noticed, leaving him alone isn't working well."

Danny squirmed a little on his chair and looked away from his parents.

The rest of the meeting dragged on, filled with questions from his mother, silence from his father and a warm had resting on Danny's shoulder, and the shuffling of paperwork. A few things were signed and Danny was excused back to class with a pass in his hand and a hole worked into his stomach.

He wasn't stupid. He didn't need a special program. He'd spent all the years of his life up until the accident doing just fine in school; he could figure out how to handle this without that kind of help.

Third period English class was a test. Danny groaned as he dropped into his chair – his mind was still reeling from the meeting this morning and there was no way he could focus on one of Lancer's essay exams. Just thinking about taking the test started the pinpricks of a migraine. He'd read the book. Well, he'd listening to an audio version he'd found online, anyways. He'd listened in class. He knew the information on his book. But he had zero confidence in being able to pass the actual written test. Not today, anyways. With all the stress from this morning, he'd be lucky if one word in three came out in English.

The test was plopped onto his desk and he paged through it dismally. Four pages. Sixteen long-form answers. Barely holding back his moan, Danny put his head down on his desk. It took several minutes of listening to the scritch of pencils on paper and looks from his teacher before he picked his head up and poked at the first answer. It was frustrating as hell. Fully ten minutes into class and he hadn't managed more than two sentences on the first question. At this rate, he'd be on question three when the bell rang.

A presence at his side made Danny flinch and look up. The classroom aide was crouching next to him. The man grinned slightly and cocked his head towards the door and whispered, "Come a second." When Danny tensed and started to dig in his heels, the man continued. "You look like you're about to punch someone. Come take a short break with me. I promise it'll help."

Although he wasn't sure he really need a break insomuch as he needed to rip up this English test and tell Lancer where to stuff it, Danny scowled and got to his feet. The aide swiped his test off the desk and followed him out in the hallway, dropping down into a crouch next to the door and gesturing at the floor next to him. Danny slumped down, crossing his arms.

"What's wrong with the world today?"

Danny scowled at him. "Nothing."

"Yes," the man drawled. "You're normal, happy Danny Fenton today." He nudged Danny's arm gently with an elbow. "I'm convinced. You have such awesome acting skills."

"I don't want to talk about it," Danny sighed. He shot a glance at the man – Mr. Elric, if Danny remembered right. Short-cropped red-dyed hair, a bristly start to a beard on his face, and skin just a few shades darker than Tucker's.

The man stretched out a leg. "A'ight. I don't pry." He grinned. "I just continually look for excuses to get out of that man's classroom. You presented a great one today."

Danny couldn't quite help the snort. Lancer was one of the more boring teachers.

"I do, however, get paid to do something English related." The man rolled his eyes. "So help me out here and keep up some sort of dismal English-based conversation whilst I waste your time and give you an excuse to take this test on a different day."

Danny's mind pricked up at the thought of not having to take that test today. "Deal," he said with a small grin.

The next half hour was filled with talk of, of all things, the book Lancer was currently giving a test on. Danny answered the man's questions relatively easily, since he actually knew the material for once. Danny figured the aide thought he was helping Danny study.

What he wasn't expecting, towards the end of the hour, for the man to pull out a pen and Danny's test and scribble a bunch of words on it. Mr. Elric held it out to him with a quirked eyebrow. Danny slowly took the test back and glanced at it. The red marks were everywhere, telling things he'd struggled on and things he'd done well with. The total points were even added up at the top for a grade of a B+.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Your test," the man answered with a shrug. "You answered all the questions."

"But I…" Danny hesitated. "I didn't actually take the test. I was just talking to you."

"And I was asking you the questions off the test." The man smiled.

Danny shuffled the papers around again, confused and uncertain. "I… that's not how it works…"

Mr. Elric hummed. "Was Lancer testing you on your ability to write?" He waited for Danny to shake his head before continuing. "He was testing you on whether or not you knew the answers to the questions. You knew them." One shoulder came up. "Well, you knew most of them, anyways."

"I…" Danny sat there, staring down at his test in bewilderment. While the man's comment had made sense – that's not how school worked. You didn't take a test by talking. And certainly not with the classroom aide in the hallway. There was no way this was okay.

"How about this," the man said. "You bring the test up to Lancer at the end of the hour and see what he says." With a gentle pat on Danny's shoulder, Mr. Elric got to his feet and vanished back into the classroom. Danny stayed out in the hallway until the bell was just about to ring, staring at the test, still confused as to whether or not this was okay.

He brushed past grumbling students as they brought their tests up to the front, waiting until the bell had rung and the classroom was emptying out before sidling up to the old teacher. He held out his test, mouth open and ready to give an explanation about how this wasn't his idea, when Lancer took the test, glanced over it, and simply told him, "Good job," before slotting the test in with the others.

Danny stood still, finding this absolutely bizarre. "But I didn't actually take the test," he finally sputtered.

"You answered the questions," Lancer said, piling the papers into his case. "That's what I wanted to know."

Finally finding words to express the confusion in his chest, Danny managed a distressed, "But it's not fair."

Lancer paused. "What's not fair?"

"I didn't take it," Danny pressed. "I just talked to Mr. Elric in the hallway. Nobody else got to do that. Everybody else had to write everything down."

Students for the next period were starting to file into the room, followed by the teacher that would be using the room. Lancer pressed his lips together, then let out a breath and said, "I have a break right now. Come to my office and let's chat."

Very willing to skip out of his social studies class for awhile, Danny trailed the teacher without complaint. He dropped into the chair opposite Lancer's desk in his office.

The man organized some of his supplies before settling into the teacher chair and steepling his fingers. "I am aware of the meeting you had this morning."

Danny tensed. "So?"

"So," Lancer said after a moment, "I'm also aware of the results of that meeting." The man pressed his lips together, obviously searching for how to say what he wanted to say. "Let's look at it like this, Mr. Fenton. Take the other students in the room. What did they have to struggle to do last hour?"

"Take a test," Danny said slowly, not understanding where this was going.

"And what would you have had to struggle to take that same test?"

Danny's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I don't understand."

Lancer nodded. "You would have had to struggle to take that test too. But you would have also had to struggle to read the questions and write the answers down. So everybody else had to focus on doing one thing last hour, and you would have to do three."

Danny glanced down at his shoes, a bit disconcerted when Lancer put it like that.

"Is that fair? To make them take one test, and you kind of having to take three at the same time?"

It took a second, but Danny eventually shook his head. "I'm not stupid-"

"I'm not saying you are," Lancer cut in with a sharp tone. "Anyone who's been around you for more than a few hours wouldn't dream of calling you stupid."

Danny ducked his head.

"But you do struggle with some things, especially after last year."

Danny's arms crept over his chest. After a year of keeping his problems to himself and thinking he was keeping his secret so well, it was very stressful to know that everybody else had seen right through it all.

"I don't teach a class on how to write. I don't teach a class on how to read. I teach a course on literature." Lancer leaned forwards over his desk. "I care that you understood the work, not whether or not you can write the answers on the page."

Danny was very quiet.

"If you really want to retake the test, you can," the man said. "But you've more than demonstrated that you know the material."

Danny had half a mind to take the teacher's offer to retake the test. He wasn't stupid. He could take the test just like everyone else. Of course, he'd get a crappy grade. Certainly not a B+, even with risking some serious migraines.

He was just fine on his own. He didn't need help. If he could handle the ghosts and the powers, he could certainly handle this too.

Lancer must have read something in his expression. "I'm not trying to make class easier for you than everyone else. I'm just trying to make it fair. You have a lot going on in your life, I just thought I'd try to take one thing off your plate."

Danny stared at the stack of tests for a long few seconds. It was a nice thought on Lancer's part. He'd been having a rough day – and the ghosts hadn't even bothered to show up yet – and it would be very nice to be done with the test, especially with a grade like that. And Lancer did have something of a point about the tests not being completely fair when he had to work so much harder at writing the answers down. Danny had thought so himself on multiple occasions, but had never put it into words. "I stick with this grade," Danny ventured finally.

Lancer's mouth crept into a smile. "So you know, if you want, if you're ever having another bad day, you can feel free to do it again. An oral test. With either me or Mr. Elric."

Danny shot a startled glance at the teacher. "Okay," he said, pretty sure he wouldn't take the man up on the offer. He didn't really need the help. Today was just different, because of the meeting this morning.

A pass was pushed across the table. "Get to class. Oh, wait…"

Danny snagged the pass and stood still, watching the teacher dig through the mess on his desk a second.

The man held out a CD. "An audio file of the book we'll be doing next. I expect the CD back when we're done with the unit."

Danny's mouth dropped open. How had the teacher known Danny had listened to the book instead of read it? He hesitantly took the offered CD with a, "Thanks."

"Scat." Lancer wiggled fingers at him, shooing Danny from the room.

After reporting to his friends at lunch his grade on his English test, Danny felt the first small trickle of pride. He had worked hard to learn that book. And really, fair was fair. He'd answered the same questions everybody else had. Maybe even harder ones, since the aide had pressed him for details and connections Danny would have never thought to write onto his test. Sam's excited grin had made the last of the uneasy prickles wash away.

It was several days later, a Friday, when he once again got pulled out of his first period math class with a pass from the office. He slunk into Mrs. Marez's office with a confused smile. "I have to take another test?"

She laughed and shook her head. "No. I just want to chat with you for a few minutes. I'm sure you don't mind missing a bit of math."

Unable to refute that comment, Danny dropped into the offered seat. He'd be fine if this meeting lasted the remainder of the period.

"I just wanted to touch base with you about the meeting we had." She smiled at him, pleasant and open. "I know those meetings can be really uncomfortable, and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

He shrugged. "I'm fine," he said. The teacher just watched him for a long second, so Danny continued into the silence. "I mean, you weren't wrong. I… don't read and write or do math really well." He dug the toe of his shoe into the carpet. "And it's probably because of the accident I got into."

"You're a smart kid."

Lost at the apparent non sequitur, Danny looked up at her. She was leaning back in her chair, watching him.

"Maybe you're not as academically smart as your sister – and that's perfectly fine. Between you and me, I think she needs help with that valedictorian fixation of hers." The teacher winked and Danny grinned. "But you're smart. You're used to solving your own problems. You're used to not asking for help. You're self-reliant."

With nothing to say to that pretty apt description of himself, Danny just nodded.

"I bet it's really a struggle to admit you're not as good at something and that, maybe just a little bit, you could use a touch of help here and there."

Honestly, Danny thought he'd been getting better at the 'asking for help' thing since the accident. He felt like he was constantly hanging on Sam, Tucker, and Jazz to keep himself afloat.

"So, after a couple days to think it through… what do you think?" She blinked at him, tipping her head to the side. "About maybe getting a little bit of help with the reading and the writing and the math thing."

Still unable to picture 'help' as anything other than the special classes the dumb kids got stuck into, Danny wrinkled his nose.

"I heard you got a good grade on your English test," she said, another strange tangent to the conversation. When Danny slowly nodded and waited for her to piece the dots together, she added, "You know that oral tests like that… that's a kind of 'little bit of help'. How would you feel about having the option of doing oral tests in your other classes? Like social, or science?"

Danny thought about that for a long second before speaking. "I could do that?" There was something sort of alluring in that thought. As much as he hated Lancer's essay tests with a passion, the other tests in his other classes ranked pretty low as well.

Mrs. Marez nodded. "I think you told me one of your biggest headaches was homework. We could get you a 'little bit of help' there too."

"How?" As much as Danny didn't necessarily want or need help – because he wasn't stupid – he was interested in what she had to say.

"Let's say Faluca hands out forty math questions for homework, and it takes the other students twenty minutes to do them. How long do you think it'd take you?"

Danny wormed his lip between his teeth. When he had done math problems with Sam and Tucker last year, he generally gotten one done for every three they did. So that twenty-minute assignment would probably take him an hour – or more, depending on the ghosts.

"Well, one option I could give you would be timed homework. When Faluca hands out his math questions, he tells you how long it should take. You start a timer when you start your homework, and you get to be done when the timer goes off." She arched an eyebrow when Danny opened his mouth with the obvious issue with that and stopped him from speaking. "And you hand in your partially completed assignment for full credit."

Danny's jaw snapped shut. That sounded… appealing. Not that he needed the help, and not that Faluca would allow him to do something like that.

"Or perhaps we could simply switch up your study periods. Instead of you sitting in a classroom with thirty other kids, you'd get a tutor who would help you get your homework done in school. Then you really wouldn't have any homework to deal with at all."

His leg bounced and Danny looked away, scanning the room. He was uncomfortable with how tempting that offer was. The ghosts gave him almost no time to work as it was. And getting some help to actually get his work done, rather than sitting in a room full of loud teenagers and waste an hour of his life every day?

"We might even be able to work something in about extended time on projects," she continued, either ignorant of Danny's tumultuous thoughts or ignoring them. "A few extra days if you fall behind, without penalties."

Danny's toes were digging into the carpet, swiveling back and forth.

"None of these things would be to make it easy on you. You're not stupid, Danny. I'm not trying to make school easy. I'm just trying to make it fair."

"You talked to Lancer," Danny muttered, catching the similarity in the phrasing.

"Hate to break it to you, kid," she said conspiratorially, "but we talk about you guys all the time. We don't have real lives and we live vicariously through our students."

Danny shot a glance in her direction, catching the grin and returning it uneasily.

"Just think about what we're offering," Mrs. Marez said. "I know it's a hard choice."

"I can handle it," Danny said. He tossed confidence into his voice that his brain wasn't echoing. "I'm good at dealing with problems."

She smiled. "Yes, you are." She dug out the candy jar, signaling the end of their chat, but held it in her lap rather than hold it out. "What are you going to do when you graduate?"

Danny mentally replaced the 'when' with an 'if'. With his grades going the way they were, he wasn't sure what was in his future. Danny shrugged. "I dunno."

"What were you going to do, before the accident?"

"I wanted to be an astronaut," Danny said, a slight grin flitting onto his face as he thought about it. "I know that it's a really slim chance, but I always loved the stars. Maybe something with astronomy."

She fiddled with the top of her jar. "But not anymore?"

Good feelings gone, the smile vanished. "No." Suddenly uncomfortable with the line of questions, he asked, "Can I go now?"

"In a second," she said. "You seem to really like space. Why'd you change your dream?"

Danny scowled, his arms creeping across his chest. "I can't even pass high school," he said darkly. "I'm not going to get into college, especially a science program like that. It's just a stupid dream-"

"There's no such thing as stupid dreams," Mrs. Marez cut in smoothly. "And what I'm hearing you tell me you can't get into college the way you've been trying." Her head tipped a bit. "Maybe you should try something new."

"I…"

"You know, Alexander Graham Bell, Thomas Edison, Michael Faraday, Albert Einstein, Isaac Newton, Nicola Tesla, the Wright brothers, Ben Franklin… all those famous people had reading and writing problems a lot like yours." She arched an eyebrow. "Werner Von Braun was dyslexic. You know him, right?"

Danny stared at her. "Yes," he said quietly.

She shrugged. "It's ultimately your choice, Danny, whether or not you want help. But all those people succeeded despite problems like you have. Maybe not the exact some thing, but something like it. They succeeded because learned to deal with their problems. Getting help is not admitting you're stupid or not good enough; everybody needs help with something. Maybe this is your Achilles' heel, or your kryptonite. It doesn't need to kill your dreams."

Danny pressed his lips together and looked away. It was a low blow for this teacher to dangle space in front of him like a carrot.

"Or you can keep doing it your way, which – if we're being honest – isn't working too well for you. If you chose that route, you certainly can. It's your life, and it'll be interesting to see where it takes you. Candy?"

Startled, Danny glanced at her, snagged a Kit Kat bar, and watched her quietly for a long few minutes. "I'll think about it," he said.

"It's all I ask," she said, handing him a pass. "If you walk slow, you can go right to your second period class."

Danny ended up walking so slowly that he was late to class. He stumbled into his seat, found a window to stare out of, and spent the rest of the hour lost in his own thoughts. The remainder of the day went much the same. Around and around in his head, he kept hearing Mrs. Marez's words. Doodling a rocket on his paper, Danny scowled.

That night after Jazz had vanished up to her room to study, Danny got up the courage to ask his parents about the meeting at the school and what they thought about it. He got more pursed lips and tense body postures from his mother. His father, though, leaned forwards. "My sister needed a little bit of extra help in school."

Danny shifted uncomfortably. "What if I got some extra help too? Would you be okay with that?"

"Would your grades go up?" his father asked, his voice and face serious.

Danny nodded uncertainly. "Mrs. Marez said she could get me a tutor-"

"Would you stop shirking from your chores?" the man interrupted.

Danny snorted a laugh. "Are you ever going to drop that? I've been doing my chores!"

His father's eyes narrowed. "Would you be happier? Would you lose the moody, overworked, anxious thing you've been the last year and go back to being my happy Dan-o?"

Danny inexplicably felt his chest tighten at that question. He swallowed and shrugged. "I think it'd help," he finally said, his voice quiet. "And maybe I could, you know, go to college. And maybe get into that science program I wanted. And-"

He cut off when his father grinned and punched a fist into his palm. "Then I'm okay with it. I get my son back to go fishing and hunting and researching with."

"Ghost fishing," Danny corrected. "And ghost hunting." He glanced at his mother. "What do you think, Mom?"

"It's a big decision," she said after a long second. "This kind of thing sticks with you. I'm not sure you'll benefit from getting a label like that."

"What else can I do?" Danny stared at her. "Mom, at this rate, I'm not going to college. I'm not even sure I can graduate from high school. I don't… want… help." He thought over what Mrs. Marez had said, and the test Lancer had allowed him to take, and how much easier his life would be if that were the normal. "But… maybe… I need… it." The words came out of his mouth slowly and painfully.

His mother was very quiet.

"The accident… the Portal…" Danny struggled to find the words he'd never wanted to say to his parents. "It hurt me, I guess, more than I thought it did." His arms crossed over his chest uncomfortably. "My brain just doesn't always work… right. And I don't think… there's anything I can do about it… by myself… and it's not getting better."

She was tense and stiff, her lips pressed tightly together.

"Mads," his father said gently. "It's not your fault. Stop blaming yourself for the repercussions of an accident."

When she shot him a harried look, Danny glanced between them, startled to realize his mother had been feeling guilty about the whole thing. It wasn't her fault he'd walked in on their experiment.

"You're my son. I want what's best for you. If this is… what's best for you… then I'm behind it." Her body posture belied the sentence. "I want you to think about it for the weekend, and if you still want this on Monday, I'll sign the paperwork."

Danny nodded and smiled and bugged her into signing the paperwork Monday morning. He'd decided. This was – he hoped – going to help. Mrs. Marez was horribly pleased to see him, and took the paperwork with a smile. Danny spent nearly an hour in her office that morning, setting up what she said were 'reasonable accommodations', along with all the warnings she could seem to muster.

It was set up as a self-advocacy program, meaning Danny wouldn't be magically given any sort of help unless he asked for it. But if he asked for it, he would get it. And the help only lasted as long as he didn't abuse the privilege. As soon as Danny started to use these accommodations to make life easy rather than fair, they would be gone.

Mr. Elric – the aide from Lancer's class – ended up being his tutor during a small group study time. There were four others in the group, seated around a small table, and Danny was startled to find that none of his study partners were the stupid kids. They were people who he wouldn't have picked out of a crowd. It didn't take long before all Danny's projects were caught up, and the amount of homework he was bringing home dwindled from a several-hour marathon to a handful of math problems and listening to Lancer's book on tape.

With more time after school, Danny got to bug Sam and Tucker while they did their own homework. They got to see several extra movies, as well as wander around the town on 'patrol' before the sun actually set and they were all late for curfew. Danny felt more relaxed than he had in a long time; with school somewhat off his plate, he could more easily balance his double life as a ghost hunter. And – oddly – the less stressed Danny felt, the easier it was to keep track of the ghost side of his brain. He'd written an entire essay for Lancer the other day, and everything but a small handful of words had come out in English on the first try.

School certainly wasn't easy. But it was back to the level of difficulty it had been before the accident had fried his brains. Keeping his friends in the dark about most of the extra help he was getting, Sam and Tucker were baffled at his apparent quick turn-around in school. Danny just laughed when they brought it up and changed the subject.

It wasn't until his second quarter report card showed up in the mail that Danny learned just how much a difference those few small changes had made in his life. The tutor, the occasional oral test, and the sometimes-modified math homework were the only things Danny had been leaning on to help him through school. He saw the envelope from the school too late to snatch it from his parents' grasp – a tactic he'd perfected over the last year of bringing home dismal grades. He waited with trepidation as his mother scanned the paper, then handed it to his father without a word.

"I expected better," his father said after a moment, holding out the report card with a teasing frown. Danny snatched the paper, his heart beating wildly in his chest. "What's with the C in math? You should be getting all As and Bs."

Danny stared at the grades, absolutely floored. His first quarter grades were a progression of Ds and Fs. His second quarter grades were… much better. "I got an A- in English?" he whispered, his voice squeaking a bit on the last word.

There was a hand-written note at the bottom. Danny grinned when he saw it was from Lancer. "Incredible attitude change and effort this quarter, Mr. Fenton," it read. "You earned the grade without question. If you could actually show up for class more often, that grade would have been higher. I'm glad you accepted the help. The last two months have shown that you deserve it."

An arm circled around his shoulders. He glanced up at his mother with a grin. "I done did guuud," he drawled, waving the paper around. "Chu proud a'me?"

"You did," she said. There was a grin on her face too. "I'm proud of you."

"Is that our report cards?" came his sister's voice. She raced into the room, snagging the still unopened envelope with her name on it. It was ripped open, her eyes canning the page. Then she let out a sob and dropped to her knees. "I'm still second! Damn you, Michael Faher!"

"It was that A- you got in phy ed in seventh grade," Danny said mock-seriously. "I'm sure Michael Faher never got anything with a minus in it in his life."

She threw him a glare. "Brat."

Danny snickered as his sister picked herself off the ground and stomped up to her room – likely to email her 7th grade phy ed teacher and see if he'd change her grade.

The paper was snagged from Danny's hand. "I'm keeping this," his mother said. She pulled him close for a second, holding him tight before she walked away. "It shows you can make good decisions."

Running with the 'good mood' thing, Danny sidled up next to his mother. "So… since I'm so good at making decisions, there's this movie I've really been wanting to see. And my allowance kinda ran out."

His mother glanced at him. "So the good decisions don't apply to finances," she chided with a smile.

"I'm not good at math," Danny said, going for a pesky, over-the-top whine. "You had me tested, remember?"

She reached into her purse and dug out enough money for several movie tickets, a massive overdose of popcorn and drinks and candy, and a meal at the Nasty Burger afterwards. "A reward," she said, holding out the cash. "And I want no Cs on that report card next quarter."

"Deal," Danny said quickly, snagging the money and digging for his phone to call Sam and Tucker. "I'll see you later!"

He didn't wait for a reply before dashing out the door.


End file.
